


D

by Lilyliegh



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Link Vrains, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Crossover, Fights, Found Family, Friendship, Gangs, Gen, Murder Mystery, Mystery, POV Alternating, but technically more like clans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 99,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilyliegh/pseuds/Lilyliegh
Summary: After the tragic, mysterious murder of Bessho Ema, SOL Technologies wages war on Link Vrains and blames the Knights of Hanoi for the attack. At the same time, Yuusaku conducts his own search for the murderer and becomes entangled with high school student Homura Takeru. Yet spurring a fight within the otherwise peaceful Link Vrains might just be what everyone needs to bring other secrets and mysteries to surface.Based on the series K Project.





	1. Duel King

**Author's Note:**

> hello! it's my new crossover! i spoiled a little bit of this in the finale of three things, and then talked about it a bit more on tumblr, but now it's here! couple things to note:  
> \- you do not need prior knowledge about K Project. all concepts will be explained ^^  
> \- this fic will be updated twice-weekly on Mondays and Thursdays.  
> \- there are no official romance pairing tags on this fic; however, considering this is based on K Project which featured a lot of Ho Yay and Les Yay and General Yay, it's highly likely this will come across as a bit more romantic. with that said, if the writing gets too shippy, i'll change the tags (:  
> \- the major character death tag mainly comes from Ema's death, but there are a couple other deaths too.  
> \- i'm following the manga, so if you've seen the anime some scenes might not appear/appear differently. my apologies ^^;;
> 
> and so, without further ado, here's the fic! ♥

__

_Power brings queries. Power asks us, "Who are we? What is our purpose in life? Why do we exist?" Power always has questions, but never answers. It never says, "This is who you are. This is your purpose in life. This is your reason for existence."_

_But there are people out there looking for such answers. They take power in their hands and mould it to their understandings. No one will ever obtain the same answer; rather, power evolves to grant answers. These people believe in themselves and in their abilities, and they ride storms and winds making realities out of their dreams._

_These people are called heroes, or Duel King._

"Seven of them! Seven duelists, seven wishes, seven realities! And each one is more powerful than the next – or maybe –" He laughs out loud, stretching his gaze up to the twinkling, starry sky. "Maybe there is an order. Maybe someone is better. Maybe ... maybe that someone is _me,_ the Colourless Duel King."

He skips from foot to foot, spinning around. In the moonlight, his face is masked by thick, cloaking shadows and an eerie fog, but his body, wrapped in a dark trench coat, spins round and round. He looks like a grim reaper risen from the grave to come and claim a soul.

Her soul, actually.

The dark figure bends down.

"What do you think, dear Ema? Don't you agree?"

Ema sinks her teeth into her lip. She's lying face-down on the ground, and though her hair tumbles in front of her eyes, through the grey and pink strands she can see him giggling to himself like he's just heard the best joke. Meanwhile, Ema can hardly force out a breath without her ribs aching.

He shot her, after all.

A hand comes to snake into her hair, and something cold presses into her temple.

"Isn't that right, dear Ema?"

* * *

_Clap! Clap!_

"Everyone, to your seats please. Settle, settle. You have the school festival to prepare for, so there is no need to be so rowdy. First, please eat your lunch. Then you have the rest of the day to prepare for the festival. Thank you."

Without another word, the teacher turns and heads out the door. Everyone remains in their seats, watching him with wide, unblinking eyes. But the moment the door closes, the classroom erupts with raucous chatter and laughter as twenty or so students leap out of their chairs and hurry to their friends' sides.

It's lunchtime, the busiest time of the day at Den City High.

Takeru smiles to himself and reaches into his backpack. Tucked between his textbooks and folders is a little container of plain, white rice – and nothing else. He sighs to himself, and then glances around the room. Everyone else looks to have delicious lunches: stewed meat, raw vegetables, fried chicken –

With a soft chuckle, Takeru swings his legs around and hops out of his seat. He doesn't travel far, just to the end of the long classroom table, where a group of boys sit chowing down together. Takeru settles down between and fixes each boy with a warm smile.

"So I forgot my side dishes today – look, just plain rice. How pathetic, huh?" He lets out a lofty sigh, and then quirks his lips up in a smile. "How about sharing some of your food?"

 _Thump!_ goes someone's fist on the table.

"Homura Takeru, you're a big liar!" a boy screams.

Takeru places a hand over his chest. "I beg your pardon."

The boy leans forward, dark eyes smoldering like the coals of a firepit. "You said the same thing yesterday, and the day before that too. Do you ever cook for yourself, or do you just mooch off of everyone in the entire classroom – hey!"

As the boy leans forward, Takeru spots that his lunch box is wide open – and Takeru sees meat. Before the boy can cover his meal, Takeru swings an arm forward, chopsticks ready, and swipes up a piece of fried chicken. Then, before the boy can even begin to take it back, Takeru plops it into his open mouth.

"Your cooking is so good –"

"That was _mine!"_ the boy says, now hovering over his dish to protect it. "That was my –"

"You should share," Takeru says. "It's good manners." Then, still chuckling, Takeru boosts himself up from the table and dusts off his hands. "I'll leave the rest of the meal to you though. Thank you for your offer –"

"I wasn't offering, Homura!"

But Takeru doesn't listen. He picks up his rice-only lunch box and carries it around the room. As he travels around the room swiping snacks from his classmates' lunches, he hears someone speaking from across the room, not loudly, but enough so that Takeru can listen intently. It's a girl, Kamishirakawa Kiku, and by the way she talks, Takeru bets his money that she likes him, even just a bit.

"I'm worried about Takeru. I don't think he's eating enough vegetables, and that's why he's so tall and lanky, and why his hair is turning grey. Besides, Takeru always swipes others' meat dishes, so he's not getting enough vegetables as it is, and I doubt he eats his veg at home too. But, but ..." Kiku's voice softens to the whisper of a butterfly, and Takeru strains his hears to hear her.

"I don't know if he'd like my homemade cooking. I think it's pretty tasty, but I might have used too much salt, or put too much spice. And the vegetables might be mushy too ..."

Takeru peers over his shoulder. Kiku sits with her head bowed, and her long hair curled around her heart-shaped face. She has the bento in her hands, and Takeru licks his lips just thinking about free food. But when she glances up at him, Takeru's heart leaps into his throat and he dashes out the door.

_She's gonna see how many other lunches he took!_

Quickly, Takeru hurries out of the classroom doors and around the corner. He searches left and right for any escape route, and sees the stairs climbing up the roof of Den City High. Few students eat on the roof, most of them preferring to sit in the classroom with their peers; thus, it's the perfect hideaway. Takeru dashes up the stairs, feet slapping –

Behind him, he hears Kiku call out, "Hey, Takeru? Takeru, where'd you go?"

Takeru grins. She won't ever find him.

"He ... disappeared ..."

 _That's right,_ Takeru thinks. _I always disappear, fizzling away like an empty spark. I'm cheery and kind, and though my classmates probably don't want to keep feeding me, they never push me away. I can get my hands on any food, on any friendship; I fit right in._

 _But I'm actually not close to anyone. I don't have any friends, or even acquaintances. I've never bothered. Maybe there's a bit of anxiety in my gut telling me,_ Don't trust anyone!, _and maybe I just don't care about high school friendships when I'll probably lose those friends when I move on to university. It's hard to get close to someone, after all ... they might try to burn you._

_So I disappear – over, and over, and over again._

At the top of the stairs, Takeru pushes open the doors. The warm sunshine touches his face and lightens his skin. A gentle breeze caresses his cheeks and rustles his hair. For a moment, Takeru just stands at the top of the stairwell and relishes the moment. There's not a person in sight, not even sitting along the stairs or up against the walls. Occasionally, someone eats lunch alone on the roof, or hides in a corner to read their ecchi manga; but today Takeru doesn't have to sneak around and find his own hiding spot: he settles right down on the floor and lays out his goods.

"Three meals," Takeru murmurs to himself. "Score."

Sitting before him are three bentos filled with all manner of toppings: pickled vegetables, hot dogs, stewed and fried meats; sauteed vegetables in thick sauce. There is white rice too, and Takeru adds his own white rice bento to the collection.

"Four meals now," he says with a decisive nod. Four meals means food for tomorrow too, but even still Takeru will need to "borrow" some items from his classmates tomorrow too. After all, unless he wants to try shopping at the convenience store with two hundred yen to his name, he'll need to keep on stealing.

_Whatever works, right?_

Out of the corner of his eye, Takeru sees something float by – a little sprite made of red and black material. It looks like a mascot for a cartoon, and Takeru takes it in his hands. Sometimes there are creatures wandering around Link Vrains that are neither human nor animal: androids, ignises –

_Gruuumble._

Takeru stifles a giggle. "You hungry there, little guy?"

The little creature bobs its head up and down, and settles in Takeru's palm. Carefully, Takeru picks up a piece of cucumber and holds it out to the being. "Here, why don't you have something to eat? You look hungry too."

To his surprise, the little creature has a mouth hidden within the dark folds of its body – a large mouth shaped like a black hole, and so dark that Takeru doesn't even seen the food be swallowed; it just disappears out of plain sight. His eyebrows shoot into his hairline and he sucks in a breath. What even _is_ this strange creature?

But then Takeru laughs it off. "A hungry fella indeed. Well, I'm starving too, so I can't share too much. But how about one more bite ..." He pinches off a bit of rice and holds it out the creature. "Time to dig in – oh, and thank you for the food, everyone!"

* * *

_At 12:45 at Den City News Station –_

Bam!

"Oopsie daisy!"

_– we've received reports of an attack by persons unknown –_

Crack!

"That didn't sound so good ..."

– _the culprits are believed to be of a rival organisation. They appear to have used explosives –_

Boom!

"There we go!"

Aoi kicks down the door with one boot of her blue heel, and soon the entryway is bathed in soft, aquamarine light. Bits of fractaled dust scatter around their legs and feet, but with a couple flaps of her wings, the debris settles further away from them. Then Aoi steps in, followed by her brother, Kusanagi, and Hayami.

"Ladies and gentlemen and honoured guests," Aoi says, clapping her hands together, "we're SOL Technologies and we're here to take over your company, duel or no duel."

Across from them stand the news company – a rather docile organisation prior to its release of blatantly harsh media against SOL Technologies. When Akira had seen the news, he riled the team together to pay Link Vrains News a visit. And so here they stand, the leading duel company in Den City – a team united.

The Den City newscrew cower when they see Akira, huddling together at the edges of their desks. Akira doesn't even spare them a glance; Aoi chuckles under her breath when she sees her brother scanning the room as if taking in the meagre interior designs. Perhaps he's looking for cameras of weapons stashed in the corners of the rooms. While Link Vrains is a rather peaceful set-up, this wouldn't be the first time SOL Technologies has had to take matters into their own hands and deal with troublesome companies spreading lies.

Beside her, Kusanagi clears his throat loudly and rubs the violet stubble around his chin. "Hey there, thanks for the bad news. As you can see, we are SOL Technologies and we too like to be cool and popular –"

"And we actually do it right too," Aoi adds, crossing her arms over her chest.

"– but the difference is that you are a minor company with a couple of part-time duelists, whereas we here have a Duel King–"

"Note the capital 'D,' got it!"

Kusanagi turns to her. "Aoi, I can do this by myself. You're crazy pumped, I get it, but ... just chill for like two seconds."

Aoi huffs and crosses her arms. Sure, the newscasters have practically shit themselves over the sight of SOL Technologies being in their office building, but that doesn't mean Kusanagi can drone on and on about minor details when there's a battle to be fought. However, Aoi keeps her mouth shut and siddles over to her brother. Akira stands tall and solemn, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks like the sort of businessman whose face would blend into a crowd: long and narrow with thin, pale features. His blue hair curls in strands at the top of his head, but it's so thin from years of stress that the colour appears faded in the artificial lighting.

"As I was saying," Kusanagi says with a strong clearing of his throat and a harsh glance towards Aoi, "we are SOL Technologies and we'd like to speak to you about some recent news articles you've published about our company. As you can clearly see, we're quite the company; you wouldn't want to be on your bad side –"

"But then there is us –" a dramatic wave, an explosion, and through the smoke appear three figures dressed in shimmering, white uniforms. They look like saints emerging victorious from a violent war; not a single speck of smoke or ash clings to their virgin outfits. "The Knights of Hanoi."

Aoi curls her lips back. There, standing at the front, is Kougami Ryouken, the leader of the Hanois, code name "Revolver." His white hair catches in the flickers of sunlight pouring through the hole in the roof from when the Hanois entered. He snaps his hands, just once, and beside him appears his two right-hand guards: Spectre, a man so pale he glows even in the darkest shadows; and Vyra, a cool-tempered redhead with a long, curved blade in her hands.

"What are you doing here?" Aoi asks.

Kusanagi tucks his hands into his pockets. "This isn't a group matter, you know."

Ryouken merely shrugs his shoulders though and approaches. Flanked by both Vyra and Spectre, he appears rather imposing and regal; but Aoi knows that he's just an over-the-top leader of a terrorist organisation who'll flaunt his successes and failures to the world.

"Are you perhaps researching the death of Bessho Ema?"

"The _murder,"_ Aoi interrupts. "She was _murdered."_

Ryouken shrugs his shoulders once more. "Trivial. But I suppose to SOL Technologies Bessho was a core member of your team, and thus you must be grieving for her loss. I understand that you've been pursuing any lead you can get your hands on that might help you track down her murderer – but really, is this sort of debacle really necessary, Akira? Do you really think you'll solve your problems with a rough interrogation that'll no doubt end in bloodshed –"

"Like you're any better," Aoi mumbles to herself. She flicks her gaze up to her brother who has yet to move a muscle. In fact, no one has – Hayami and Kusanagi included. They all look surprised to see Ryouken here, even though no doubt he's been following their movements for days.

"How about leaving matters up to us?"

Aoi's eyes widen. Is he joking? What does he care about Ema? Aoi isn't even sure if Ryouken cares for his _own_ members of his group, much less the members of other clans.

Brandishing her sword in front of her, Vyra stands resolute. She's nearly as tall as Ema was, with long limbs and swift, agile movements. "SOL Technologies and Duel King Zaizen Akira, if you do not comply, we will have to remove you from the premises with force."

Kusanagi merely chuckles though and tilts his head towards Akira. He smirks. "So Akira, what'll it be?"

Akira purses his lips together, like he sucked on a cherry, and then murmurs, softer than butterfly, "End them."

Two words is all it takes. Aoi and Kusanagi take into action, and the very ground beneath them begins to quiver and shake, pulsing with an ancient energy. At times, Aoi thinks the ground will break off and she'll tumble into the belly of the world below, but instead all she feels is the pulsing, raw energy of her leader and brother, Akira.

"Here it comes," Kusanagi says. "The symbol of a Duel King's power and his bond with his duelists and monsters: his Skill, Into the Vrains."

The world around them cracks as if a bolt of lightning has seared through the sky and electrified the air. Aoi grins as she feels her own power crackle deep inside her. Being with her clan, and in particularly with Akira, has given her new strength. She fixes Ryouken with a steeled, icy gaze – and frowns.

Ryouken's lips curl up in a thin smile.

To his side, Vyra swings her sword up and across her chest in a salute. Spectre follows suit, brandishing a long, wooden sword that, were it not in Spectre's deadly hands, would look more like a children's toy. But Aoi knows how fearsome and strong the Knights of Hanoi can be, and so she swallows thickly.

"On your guards," Spectre and Vyra say together.

Ryouken's grin widens. He reaches into his pocket, but instead of brandishing a sword, instead he brings forth a small, silver pistol that he twirls around his fingers before crossing his arm over his chest in a similar salute to his subordinates. The air around them begins to crackle once more, this time feeling like the coding of the universe is changing to make room for the raw energy pulsing in the room alone.

"Across the starry roads we'll walk, weapons in our hands, power in our hearts, reasons in our minds. We will not falter. The Knights of Hanoi bow down to no one."

A second crackle from a ripple of energy than snakes across the ground and in the air, and forces Aoi to cover her face with her hands. What ... what even _was_ that? She glances around, and then up – and cut into the ceiling is a large hole through which Aoi can see the tall peaks of two swords, each encircled by a large dragon.

"Dragon Swords." Aoi breathes the words between her parted lips. When Duel Kings fight and unleash their clans power, they summon their Dragon Swords, physical manifestations of the raw power of their clan. Aoi has only ever seen the Dragon Sword of SOL Technologies a handful of times, so she squints her eyes to spot the incricate, blue detailing along the sword itself, and the large dragon with electric wings spiralling along the blade. The Knights of Hanoi's dragon is equally terrifying: a red dragon with gun-barrels poking out of its back, and clinging to a red sword the colour of a computer error message.

When she glances back down at Ryouken, his eyes have turned the same, eerie red as his sword – and Spectre's and Vyra's too. Both of them look possessed. Aoi has never seen such a vibrant eye colour before, but as she glances to her side, she sees that her own team has electric blue eyes.

Carefully, she brings her hand up to her face and peers at the the metal clasp around her wrist. She can see her reflection in it: her pursed lips, her skin painted with a heart and clover on it – and her blue eyes, more piercing than ever before.

 _So this is my power,_ she thinks. _This is our power, the strength of SOL Technologies._

* * *

Atop the roofs, Yuusaku sits kicking his feet back and forth. The streets are far too busy for him, and even the duel lanes are crowded with people thinking they can just ask anyone for a match, as if this world is PVP-friendly. It isn't, at least not for Yuusaku. The last thing he wants to do is wipe the floor clean with some newbie who wanted to have a "fun and light-hearted duel" with him.

Besides, Yuusaku is much more interested by the change in energy around Link Vrains. A few minutes ago the air pressure changed, and for a moment it felt like there would be thunder and lightning. Now though, the air just feels charged –

_Crack!_

As if dropped from the heaven appear two large, metal swords encircled by scaly dragons, one red and one blue. Yuusaku leaps up from his seat on the edge of the building and nearly stumbles back onto his bottom.

Dragon Swords, the Skills of Duel Kings. Normally, Duel Kings don't activate their Skills unless their engaged in combat – and so if there are two Swords, that means the Duel Kings must be engaged in a fight.

Yuusaku narrows his eyes at the sight. Fighting Duel Kings is even worse than over-friendly PVP-duelists. Normally, Duel Kings stay away from each other and keep to their own problems. The last time they went head-to-head, there were massive, dimension-wide casualties and catastrophes.

 _Who's fighting who ... and why?_ Yuusaku wonders.

"Hey! Are you sure you should be up there, mister?"

Yuusaku nearly tumbles onto his bottom for a second time, and hurriedly swings around. Peeking from the window of a building is a little kid, maybe six of seven, with bright hair and eyes. The child's eyes widen when Yuusaku spots him, and he crows, "Mister, did you know you're on top of the building?"

Quickly, Yuusaku settles down and peers over the edge of the building. How long has this kid been here for ...?

"Don't try this at home, OK, kid," he says, and then he runs and leaps right off the building. Wind pulls at his hair and slides off his skinsuit – and then Yuusaku activates his duel disk and his D-Board materialises beneath his feet. The board stops his fall, and Yuusaku glides for a moment and glances over his shoulder. The kid hangs out the window, mouth wide open.

"Mister –"

"Stay inside," he says. "Stay safe." And then he takes off through the air and towards the Dragon Swords. If two Duel Kings are fighting one another, that can only be trouble – and the last piece of trouble that Yuusaku heard about through the news involved the death of SOL Technologies dear comrade Bessho Ema. Yuusaku has a sneaking suspicion that Ema's death is part of this mess.

_Duel Kings cannot be fighting, not while their powers can cause terrible recourses for everyone around them. Link Vrains isn't a battlefield; it's not a place to wage war. And if no one's going to stop these Duel Kings, then I'll find the murderer of Bessho Ema myself – not because I want to avenge her, but because I don't want anyone fighting in this sacred world._

In the corner of his eye, Yuusaku sees something glimmering on the top of a building – a sparkle of red and black, like someone lit a flame. He only sees it for a moment before he glides away and towards the Swords hanging in the sky. Whatever it was, Yuusaku hopes it goes inside before Link Vrains gets ugly. If Duel Kings are fighting, it's only to end in destruction.


	2. Detail

At the top of the tower, Yuusaku peers down at the sight below. He's seen Duelists and their Dragon Swords before, but only in pictures and old videos. Never before has he seen two Kings go head to head. It even looks ugly too: both of them squaring off in the middle of a crumbling building, flanked by their fellow team. Both sides look ready to fight at any minute. Above them, the Swords crack and crunch as raw energy seeps into Link Vrains' sky.

Ryouken, the leader of the Knights of Hanoi, steps forward. "Zaizen Akira, as much as I would like to beat your ass into the ground, I would rather not see the destruction of this beautiful world. What happened to your fellow friend is unfortunate but that is no reason to wage war –"

"Look who's talking!" Aoi says, cutting him off. "Like the Hanois are a _peaceful_ group that has never spilt blood or raged havoc. I don't suppose you care to explain the _holes in the ceiling."_

"Trivial," Ryouken says.

Yuusaku sinks his teeth into his lip. While their bickering is just tough talk meant to intimidate the other, what has captured his attention is Akira himself, standing in the room so pale and drawn. He looks physically _ill,_ thin and wiry with his bones ripping through his translucent skin. Yuusaku hasn't seen Akira in a long time, but the last time he remember him, he doesn't recall seeing him so beaten-down.

Ryouken seems to notice this too though, rolling his eyes towards Akira. "Are you planning on dropping your Sword down on Den City, Zaizen? Because that will happen if you keep this up."

_Drop your ..._

Yuusaku tilts his head up towards SOL Technologies' Dragon Sword. Sure enough, while it looks relatively intact at a first glance, Yuusaku spots places where the metal has chipped away, or the paint has been scratched off. The dragon wrapped around the shaft and blade is made of skin and bones, and its lazy, blue eyes blink slowly.

_Can I even do anything about this though?_ Yuusaku wonders. A fight between Duel Kings is a matter that no one else but they can solve; the best thing Yuusaku can try to do is plead with the members of the Knights of Hanoi and SOL Technologies and hope they can bring their leaders to their senses. But the last thing Yuusaku wants to do is interact with any of them. He just wants them to smarten up and stop breaking his city.

_This is about Bessho Ema though who was murdered by the Colourless Duelist. If I get involved with them, maybe they'll have clues about who the Colourless Duelist is –_

"Your interference is unnecessary."

Yuusaku startles, spinning around to find a masked woman standing not three feet away from him. He doesn't remember seeing anyone climb up onto the building, or teleport up here. Yuusaku blinks twice and rubs an eye – is he perhaps seeing illusions? But the woman remains there, silent as if she never opened her mouth.

"What?" Yuusaku says after a moment.

The woman turns towards him. She wears a rabbit mask, white with tall ears; and a long, flowing robe made of golden fabric the colour of the desert sands.

"Your interference is unnecessary," the woman repeats. "That is the wish of my master."

Then she disappears into thin air, and the next thing Yuusaku sees is smoke billowing from the hole in the building down below – the same building Ryouken and Akira were just in. Yuusaku hurries to the side and peers down below. What just happened? Did the rabbit-masked person interfere? Or did someone from SOL Technologies or the Knights of Hanoi attack?

Through the smoke Yuusaku sees a flash and flicker of red electricity, and then Ryouken appears with his foot pressed down on Akira's back. Akira doesn't move a muscle; he looks too weak too, though he saves face by not gasping or crying. His teammates are more emotional.

"Akira!" Aoi screams, rushing to his side, only to be pulled back by Kusanagi. "That's my brother –"

"He's fine," Kusanagi says grimly, and he glances up towards the Knights of Hanoi. None of them have moved a muscle, save for Ryouken who presses his foot down a bit deeper into the small of Akira's back.

"Zaizen Akira" – Ryouken crosses his arms over his chest, staring down his nose at the body beneath his feet – "if you are going to ignore the signs of your Sword, then I have no choice but to detain you. I won't watch Link Vrains crumble under your stupidity and selfishness."

_Detained?_ Yuusaku meshes his eyebrows together. _Where are they taking him?_

On the sidelines, Aoi falls to her knees. "Akira ..."

"He'll be fine," Kusanagi says. "He's just going on a little vacation –"

"They're _capturing_ him –"

Kusanagi merely shrugs his shoulders. "It's fine, Aoi. It's fine." Then he glances up at an empty space, and Yuusaku squints his eyes to see what exactly Kusanagi is staring at; but even with his strong vision, the distance between them is too far, and Yuusaku doesn't see who or what Kusanagi is staring at.

Once Ryouken takes his foot off of Akira, he pulls him to his feet, handling him like a ragdoll. Akira sways back and forth, eyes unsteady. But when he sees his team, he staightens up and nods his head towards them.

"He'll be fine," Kusanagi says again, patting the heads of both Aoi and Hayami. "Now come on, let's go back. We'll see him in a bit."

Aoi gathers herself back up to her feet and grabs hold of Hayami's hand. Then, as a team, the three of them turn around and head back towards the exit. Yuusaku expects one of them to turn around for a surprise attack, but all three of them exit without a single word spoken.

_Are they all riled from the Colourless King too?_ Yuusaku wonders. But it's not his problem to get involved in SOL Technologies and Knights of Hanoi matters, so he clicks on his duel disk and steps off the edge of the building. Just before he tumbles, his D-Board materialises under his feet, catching his fall and taking him across the virtual city.

* * *

"Hey, are you ever going to fix this place up?"

Kusanagi glances up from his book and chuckles. Peeking through the doorway is Vyra, no longer in her militaristic Knights of Hanoi uniform, but instead in a simple camisole and skirt and platform flats. Even her hair is mussed up and curling around her heart-shaped face. She sticks her tongue out at him and steps through the door.

"I'm serious," she says.

"And I'm serious too," Kusanagi answers, setting down his book. "This place actually looked shabbier than it does now. It used to be just a food truck. Now it's an actual cafe."

That said, cafe is a _loose_ word to describe Cafe Nagi: hole-in-the-wall shop is much more appropriate. There are mismatched couches in one corner around a coffee table with only three legs; the fourth corner is propped up by several books. Then there's the bar area since this cafe was once an old pub. Little stools line the counter too. His hot dog grill – and prized hot dog toaster – are behind the bar and along the counters. There are fridges too, and a coffee machine and ... that's it. It's meagrely, sparsely decorated with his limited budget from his even more limited clientele.

"Looks clean to me," Kusanagi says.

Vyra drags her finger along the bar table and inspects it with narrowed eyes. "It'll do." She glances around, first at the couches, and then to a stairwell leading up to the living quarters. "Anyone else home?"

"So en garde today," Kusanagi says. He turns around and pours himself a cup of coffee, and then glances back over his shoulder. "Coffee, miss?"

"The usual," Vyra says, "and don't be so formal with me. We're off duty."

"Who says I'd be formal around you when you're _on_ duty."

"My _food,_ sir."

"Coming, coming," Kusanagi says, clicking his tongue. He sees a dusting of pink along her cheeks, and he chuckles as he begins roasting the hotdog and toasting the bun, taking care not to burn any of the food. Once the hotdog is ready, he adds the toppings: ketchup, mustard, relish, and ...

Kusanagi swallows thickly.

Red bean paste.

"This is disgusting," Kusanagi groans. "How can you even _swallow_ this?"

"Not another word out of you." Vyra takes the hotdog, already licking her lips, and mutters her thanks. Then she happily bites into it.

Kusanagi swallows back a groan.

"I don't know what's worse: no customers, or customers like you."

"I'll happily take my service elsewhere, you know. There are gourmets out there that would appreciate my refined palate –"

"You're eating bits of indistinguishable meat, three condiments, and a dessert topping on a bun. Your refined palate is shit, Miss Vyra."

Vyra huffs and takes another bite of her food. Kusanagi returns to his book without another word. As his most frequently customer besides the SOL Technologies crew that use Cafe Nagi as a hangout when they don't want to do shit for Akira, Kusanagi enjoys Vyra's company despite how hard-headed and strange she can be. On the dueling field, they're rivals on opposite teams even when shit hasn't hit the fan concerning the Colouress Duel King. But here, rivalries drop over cups of coffee and hotdogs. Here, he and Vyra can sit together in peace and not have to worry about allegiances.

Today though, the mood feels a bit different. Perhaps it's because not two hours ago Akira was taken captive by the Knights of Hanoi under the guise of "protection." Akira knows the Hanois won't do anything bad to Akira, but that doesn't mean tensions have decreased between their teams. Vyra even seems quieter today, pulled into herself as she munches away on her hotdog.

"Hey ..." she says after a moment. "About that Duel King of yours ... Zaizen."

Kusanagi lifts his head. Vyra doesn't meet his gaze, her head bowed. Kusanagi doesn't say a word though. He pushes himself off the counter and gets another cup of coffee, this one for Vyra.

"How's our boss doing?" Kusanagi smirks. "You treating him well?"

"He's not treating _himself_ well, if that's what you mean." Vyra's teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, and it takes her a moment longer to speak again. "He spends most of his time sleeping, actually. He's barely eaten or drunk anything, but he's not fighting. He's just ... there."

"Sounds like you've got yourself a pretty boring prisoner. I told Aoi that her brother would be fine. Ryouken was probably expecting someone who'd try to break free, but Akira's not going to play head games with anyone, and he certainly isn't going to try and take on all the Hanois without us around."

"He would take us all on though ..."

Kusanagi takes another deep sip of his coffee and grins. "You think Akira will go down without a fight? He cares about this company and all of us in it. He'll put his life on the line –"

"I can _see_ what's wrong with him," Vyra hisses. She nearly leaps over the countertop, but Kusanagi doesn't move an inch. Vyra doesn't scare him; she's all bark and no bite when he gets her riled, and while she can get under people's skin like a virus, her actual strength lies in her diligence and devotion to the Knights of Hanoi.

"I saw his Dragon Sword," Vyra says, settling back down in her seat. "I saw it cracking and breaking. And I saw him, weaker than he's even been but not bowing his head, not even once. You know what that means, don't you, Kusanagi?"

"Yeah ..." Kusanagi scratches the back of his head. "Someday, his Sword is going to drop."

"Sometime _soon."_ Vyra shivers, as if recalling a terrible memory. Kusanagi feels the tremors through the old, stained wood of the counter. He's seen what happens when a Sword drops too: a terrible catastrophe and a release of power so strong it can delete the very coding that makes up the beautiful world of Link Vrains.

"You know what's going to happen," Vyra continues, "if Zaizen Akira continues to use his power and wage war on others. We Knights of Hanoi can clearly see what he's doing, and if he's going to burn himself out, we'll be around to make sure he takes his mess _well_ out of the city limits –"

"So then why are you pushing him around? It can't be doing him much good being held captive at your base." Kusanagi stretches over the counter this time, and Vyra leans back, eyes startled open. "He's not well; we can all clearly see that. But I seriously doubt he's better off with you than he is with me. At least if he's at SOL Technologies there are people who can reason with him: Aoi and Hayami, for example."

"Like you're doing much ..." Vyra turns her head to the side. "The weaker he becomes, the more dangerous he becomes. If he's with us, then perhaps Revolver can do something –"

"Ryouken? Yeah, he's gonna incite Akira to really let loose, and then he'll get himself so ill that his Sword will drive itself _deep_ into the ground. And does anyone really want that? Seriously." Kusanagi drives a hand deep into his hair and massages the thick, violet locks. Then he drags his hands down his weary face, past the ticklish stubble around his chin. "Seriously, Vyra."

"Then why'd you let us have him?" Vyra tucks a hand under her chin. "You could have fought with us. You could have tried to take him back."

Kusanagi shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, we could have ... but if Ryouken stops being such a dick and thinks about the situation, I hope he realises that Akira's a prisoner so that maybe he's safer and away from the people he cares about, the people who are losing sleep over him ..."

His gaze flickers towards the walls decorated in photographs of SOL Technologies. There are some formal business portraits of the crew, but then there are polaroids that Aoi and Hayami took of the team: group shots of everyone around the bar, or at the beach, or out for ice cream together. None of the photos have dates on them, but just by whose in the photograph, or how well Akira looks, Kusanagi can tell when they were taken. There are even photographs of Ema, often hanging around Akira's neck or buddying up with Aoi. She was the glue that held their company together, after all.

"Maybe Akira realises that he's better off away from all of us ..."

"That's the stupidest reason I've ever heard." Vyra polishes off the rest of her food and dabs at her lips with a napkin. Briefly, she glances to the photographs, but then she glares at Kusanagi. "He's not safe anywhere and you know it."

"I do, I do," Kusanagi says, back to rubbing his hands through his hair. Just as he's about to open his mouth and tell her to tell him something he doesn't already know, a sharp buzz echoes through the room –- his phone, vibrating across the countertop and threatening to fall off the edge. He swiftly picks it up and mutters a quick, "'Scuse me," to Vyra. Then he lifts the phone to his ear –

"Kusanagi, I'm going to _kill someone –"_

"Aoi!"

"I haven't killed them yet, but I'm looking around the city for some witnesses or informants, and I swear no one has heard about this! No one! I've even gone to the seedy districts –"

"You mean the places Akira doesn't like you to go to?"

"– and I've found nothing! Nothing! So I've dueled a few people, maybe taught them a lesson when they acted all lecherously around me – but I wanted to ask you for help."

Kusanagi chuckles into the receiver. Go figure that Aoi would go around acting like the hotstuff she thinks she is, only to realise that her job is much harder than she originally anticipated and that she should have taken back-up with her. Nonetheless, Kusanagi answers, "Well, I don't really care how many lecherous duelists you beat up; they can live or die for all I care. But do you even remember what you're supposed to be doing, Aoi? Because it sounds to me like you have forgotten –"

"I _know_ what I'm doing." She huffs loudly. "I'm looking for the jerk who murdered Ema."

"That's nice, you did remember –"

"I _did,"_ Aoi says, "and I also remembered to give a little payback to that other gang of duelists we say last week. Y'know, the ones that threw eggs on the window of your cafe. Yeah, I dealt with them too. Just played with them a bit, that's all."

"That's good," Kusanagi says. He doesn't even remember the eggshells on the window; the past week has been a blur after Ema's murder, and Kusanagi has spent most of his time taking care of Akira or ensuring that Aoi doesn't go running off trying to save her brother and Ema and anyone else she wants to, all the while causing more problems than she can solve.

"Remember though" – he clears his throat – "your goal isn't to stir up the pot and cause trouble for everyone, busting heads like it's a game. You can find the killer and get your revenge, but don't turn this into a city-wide dueling brawl. You can play _after_ you do your homework –"

"Yeah, yeah," Aoi mutters. "I know."

"But." Kusanagi's voice drops lower, nearly scraping across his vocal chords. "But if you see the Colourless Duel King, then we'll have a grand ol' time playing with him, all of us members of SOL Technologies. Got it?"

He can _hear_ her grin through the speaker. "Got it, Mr. Kusanagi."

Kusanagi clicks the phone closed without another word. He catches the photo on the screen – another selfie of him and Akira, Aoi, Ema, and Hayami. The whole SOL Technologies crew. They're all smiling, and Ema has her arms wrapped around Akira's neck, standing behind him with her chin on his shoulder. Aoi and Hayami are on either side of him, clinging to an arm each. It looks like a harem shot, if Kusanagi is perfectly honest with himself. And he's in the photo too, standing just a bit to the side with his hands in his pockets. Typical.

"Sorry, miss," he says to Vyra, pocketing the phone. "Duty calls."

"Clean-up crew?"

Kusanagi scratches at his hair once more. "Nah, just Aoi. She's out busting her back for us, doing everything in her power to bring her brother home. I don't think she really gets all of this."

"She's young, isn't she?"

"Young-minded," Kusanagi corrects with a grim smile. "But she has a big heart and she'll do anything to help those close to her. Maybe someday she'll get a clue about this mess, but for now ..." He sighs. "It's hard for her."

Vyra hums and hahs under her breath – and then, as if all her barriers have gone back up, she folds her hands neatly across the counter and stares down her nose at him. "So that means, while the Knights of Hanoi are preoccupied with watching over your Duel King, Zaizen Akira ... SOL Technologies is off doing its own special brand of investigation, namely – what was that called again, oh right – _busting heads."_

Kusanagi laughs outright. "Everyone has to do their part –"

"Bullshit." Vyra spits the words out like bile on her tongue, and leaps out of her seat as if she's been stung. "Do know that I'll be relaying this all to Revolver, who no doubt will want in on this business. We're not going to sit around babysitting your Duel King."

"Nobody asked you to," Kusanagi says. "Trust me, if you kick him out, he'll come back to us right as rain. It's not like you'll be able to really stop him if his Sword drops. If that happens, we're all royally screwed."

Vyra merely huffs once more. She grabs her purse and hugs it to her chest, and swings around ready to storm out of the cafe – and then stops. Kusanagi sees what's caught her attention: the sunlight has filtered in through the windows and landed on a particularly cluttered wall of photographs. The light has warmed up everyone's features, and now the photographs look cheerier than they ever have.

"Quite the collection you have there," Vyra says with a nod to the wall.

Though he tries to hide it, Kusanagi can't help but smile. Whenever he's working, he'll look over to that wall to give himself a little dose of joy. His favourite memories are recorded on that wall – all the adventures of SOL Technologies. Judging by Vyra's surprised expression, the Knights of Hanoi don't have a memory wall at their home base. That's to be expected though: it's not because of Akira that the pictures are here, but because of Aoi, Ema, and Hayami who have spent so much time taking pictures of everyone.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Kusanagi comes to stand next to her. "Lot of shenanigans, can you tell?"

Vyra nods her head. Carefully, she reaches up and taps a finger to one of the photographs, a shot of Ema on Akira's back, grabbing chunks of his hair like they're antennae or handles. Akira's smile is more of a grimance, but Ema is beaming, her face brighter than the sun.

"That's the murdered woman –"

"Bessho Ema," Kusanagi corrects. "And yep, that's her. Her and Akira."

"She looks ... friendly."

"Did you expect someone different?" Kusanagi stretches his arms up and taps several more pictures, all of Ema fooling around with the camera, or lounging on the couches, or even one photo of her and Aoi standing on top of the counters striking idol poses. "She was a wild one, very spirited, could never tell what was on her mind. But she was pretty important to everyone."

"To Akira too?" Vyra raises an eyebrow. "Kusanagi, does Akira's illness and sudden downfall have anything to do with Ema's death?"

"Ema's death has a lot to do with why everyone is acting the way they're acting, but ..." He sighs. "Yeah, Akira's all wound up and tired and stressed and ill because of her murder. We're probably feeding off of some of his rage too – Aoi especially. The three of them ... well, even the four of them if you include Hayami ... they were close. Like family."

"Family?" Now both of Vyra's eyebrows have risen into her red locks, and turns to face her. Her lips are pressed together in a tight line.

"Ema meant a lot to Akira, not like the big brother and little sister relationship he has with Aoi, but more like ... I dunno, lovers? But platonic? Platonic lovers then. It's complicated. But Akira liked Ema. His greatest fear has always been losing those who are precious to him, much like Aoi. He spent so much time building up SOL Technologies to protect all of us – his family – that he hardly spent any time _with_ us. But."

Kusanagi lifts his head towards the photographs extending all along the walls. "As you can see, Ema changed some of that. She got Akira out of his stuffy office and into the real world. She'd take us all along on all sorts of adventures, big or small. It was never a boring day with he around, even when it probably should have been. Sure, business dropped a bit because we were all slacking off at the beach or mall every single day, but our happiness ... our joy of being together ...

"We felt like a family. And so Akira didn't have to think about losing anyone because none of us would have ever left him. None of us wanted to leave a place that felt like home, or a company that felt like family. SOL Technologies belongs to all of us."

Vyra taps a single finger against her chin. "I don't ever remember seeing Ema ..."

"Fighting? She didn't fight, not really. She was more like a ghost, creeping through the shadows and getting intel from private sources. I don't even know all that much about her work, actually." Abashedly, Kusanagi muffles a chuckle into his palm. "She had some secrets, that woman. But then again, at least to Akira, she was faithful."

"Now you're getting sentimental," Vyra teases.

"Am I? Well ..." Kusanagi drifts down the room and to another cluster of photographs. One of them stands out from the rest: a shot of Ema and Akira in front of SOL Technologies, out on the lawn on a crisp, red picnic blanket. Ema's long legs stretch out before her, and her normally wind-swept pink and grey hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. Next to her, Akira looks stiff and out of place in his crisp business suit.

"Ema used to say to Akira, 'This place is a home, and your company is meant to protect others. Your powers. Your blue. It's the colour of our love."

"Really sentimental."

"But now Ema's dead."

Vyra's swallow is audible. "Right."

"Yeah," Kusanagi mutters, glaring over his shoulder. "That's why Akira is the way he is. That's why he's so ill, so reckless. That's why we're all the way we are. And that's why his Sword is going to drop."

Vyra nods her head. Her gaze flickers once more to the photographs on the wall; the sunlight has leaked back out the window, and now the shadows have begun to appear in the corners of the pictures.

"I see," she says. "Well." She hikes her bag up onto her shoulder. "The Knights of Hanoi will do everything we can to ensure the safety of Link Vrains. But now I have to wonder ... how much good we can really do for a man that's already ready to die."

Before Kusanagi can answer her, Vyra sweeps out the door and closes it behind her. Kusanagi hears the lock click shut, and he lets out a breath he'd been holding in longer before she entered. Then he turns on his heel and heads off in search of matches. All the light has disappeared from the room.


	3. erranD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to try and make chapter cards for even-only chapters since i'm finding it hard to edit and write and make graphics, but we shall see (: you never know, this chapter could have an edit ^^

The courtyard of Den City High School is jam-packed today as students bustle to and fro. Normally, students have gone home for the day or headed inside for their clubs; but today, in preparation from the school festival, everyone is outdoors setting up tents and lugging merchandise around. This festival has been planned for months in advance, so Takeru doesn't get why it's only  _ now  _ that preparations are being made. Shouldn't some of this have been figured out earlier? Then again, procrastination is part of the recipe of any gathering.

He swings himself to the side to avoid being beamed by several planks of wood carried by a group of athletics students. Then he ducks as a load of metal poles nearly bowls him over, and he dives to the side as several girls swoop by him with their arms full of baskets.

_ Where even is all this stuff going?  _ Takeru wonders.

Standing up on several wooden crates, Kiku shouts orders to anyone who looks available to take on a job. She has a clipboard balanced against her hip, and her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail to keep the strands out of her eyes. Normally, she's rather quiet and reserved in class; but as the head organiser for this year's school festival, she has assumed her managerial role with pride.

"Hey, if you're standing around, please go to the gym and help them unload the mats. And you there with the poles, don't swing them around like swords – those need to go to the western courtyard for the tents. I  _ repeat,  _ those are tent poles, not swords. Seriously, guys."

Takeru stifles a giggle. Getting a hundred or so students to set up for a fair is equivalent to the mental labour needed to herd cats: takes too long and not worth the effort.

Someone approaches Kiku though, a girl in their class who Takeru knows makes delicious onigiri. She whispers something into Kiku's ear, and a moment later Kiku is shouting again.

"Your attention please. I need someone to run an errand for the student council. Someone needs to run into the city and grab the fireworks for me."

A crowd of students stop what they're doing, and for a second no one speaks. Then a rumble of murmurs moves through the crowds. Everyone at the school knows the weight of this task. It'll take at least an hour to get into the city itself – they have to take a ferry off the island – and then they'll need to head to the fireworks store and back. By that point it'll be well into the evening, and no one really wants to be helping set up for the festival for that long.

"That'll take like three hours!" someone shouts.

Kiku crosses her arms over her chest. "So? I'll be around for that long too."

Then someone else speaks up. "Hey, I bet Naoki will do it. He  _ loves  _ fireworks –"

Kiku's face bursts red, and from within the crowd someone chokes loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, Takeru sees Naoki running away.

"No way," someone says. "Naoki's helping with construction. Take ... take ... take Takeru!"

Takeru's eyes widen, and before he can turn tail and run, Kiku's eyes narrow down on him. His blood runs cold and he shrinks down towards the ground. Really, he doesn't want to be at school until dusk. He wants to go home and play video games and lie around, not trek back and forth with dangerous explosives. He's not even a dangerous guy.

But Kiku, standing on the box, smiles widely at him. "Takeru, you look free –"

"Actually, I'm busy –"

One of his classmates pushes him forward. "Homura, you lazy ass – get to work!"

Kiku glares at the offending student, and then hops down from her perch on the boxes and approaches him. Her cheeks have been dusted pink, and she dips her head forward when she sees him. She doesn't say anything at first, twisting her hands together. Between her sweaty palms Takeru sees a little folded note.

"For me?" he says, and then sighs. "Kamishirakawa –"

"Kiku. It's shorter. And ..." She brings the piece of paper up to her chest, holding it right where her red ribbon is tied around her neck. "Please, Takeru?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Takeru sees the little, black ball appear. It floats over him and lands neatly on his shoulder.

_ At least I'll have company,  _ he thinks. With a sigh, he takes the piece of paper from Kiku's hands and sticks it in his pocket. He hopes there are directions on the note too – he has no clue where he's even meant to be going. Nonetheless, he forces a smile for her and pushes back his hair.

"You owe me, all right?"

"All right," Kiku says with another smile. "Be safe, Takeru. I'll see you this evening."

"Maybe bring a flashlight," Takeru says with a snort, and then turns on his heel and heads out. He twists and turns once more to avoid students carrying beams and poles around the courtyard; but once he makes it out of the school's iron gates and down to the station, then it all becomes quiet. There's not a student in sight: everyone has either gone home or stayed behind to help out.

He heads to the platform and waits for one of the trains to appear. Den City High School has its own monorail system built above the water. The great, steel contraption stretches from the mainland out to the island, and there are two trains running at all times. When Takeru sees them, his stomach sinks a little into his feet.

_ I really don't like heights. _

Nonetheless, he steels his nerves and hops on. He picks a seat in the middle of the train car; there's no one else on board with him, and so he can stretch out and throw his head back. For a second, he sees the sun stretching across the water like a great, yellow hand – and then Takeru leans back and sees the dark, steel roof.

He closes his eyes for the remainder of the trip, and only opens them when he hears the train doors click open. He checks to make sure that his little traveling companion is still hanging around with him, and then he heads off the train and into the city below. As soon as he steps off the platform, Takeru hears the endless chatter and feels in in his soul: Den City is massive, a metropolitan city with so many streets that Takeru feels his mind spinning.

_ Was I really the best one suited for this job? I barely ever go off the island ... _

Shoving his hand into his pocket, Takeru pulls out the slip of paper Kiku gave him. There's an address on it and an order number, but nothing about how to get to the store.

Takeru narrows his eyes.  _ How is this supposed to help me, Kiku? You know I've barely gone to town. _

But he can't call her, not while she's barking orders to a hundred other students, so he squares his shoulders and heads into the city. Most likely a firework shop would be towards the marketplace, and maybe in the centre of the town. So Takeru starts wandering around and asking for directions from time to time. He heads into a couple cafes and asks the servers, and they give him pointers; and when Takeru gets lost again, he goes into more cafes and asks for help.

Eventually, he finds it: a plain-looking building with a crowded interior filled with boxes of fireworks. Takeru can barely see the front counter with all the boxes surrounding it, and suddenly from around the corner pops a figure.

"Hey, you a student from Den City High?"

"Uh, yeah –"

"I've been expecting you. Stay right there and I'll get your order."

"Do you need to see my order number ... or something." The shop attendant doesn't even turn around. A moment later though he reappears with two bags full of fireworks. Takeru looks from the bag to the guy. Is this it?

"Do I need to pay?" Takeru asks the attendant.

"Already accounted for."

"Oh, well ..." Takeru tilts his head forward in a bow. "Thank you, sir." As he spins around, he feels a smile tug on his lips.  _ That was easier than expected,  _ he thinks.  _ Just a hassle to get out here, but I know my way back and – _

As Takeru opens the door, he nearly runs into a girl with brown hair pulled up in pigtails. However, whereas he stumbles back with an apology on his lips, she steps  _ forward  _ and pushes him back into the store. Her eyebrows knit together over her blue eyes, and she raises her fist towards him –

"Found you!"

Takeru pushes her away just before her fist collides with his cheek. He shoves her into the wall, yelping out an apology, and runs as fast as can down the alleyway. He doesn't dare look over his shoulder, but he doesn't need to to know that she's chasing after him, shouting all the while.

"Get back here, you white-haired murderer!"

"Murderer?" Takeru's words come out as a rough squeak. "What –"

Something flies over his head – no,  _ someone!  _ The girl arcs over him on a D-Board, swinging a plastic princess wand at him. Takeru ducks before she knocks his brains out, and he quickly dashes down a corner. Her board is quick though, and it cuts the corner sharply and chases after him.

"Why are you chasing me?" Takeru shouts.

"Get back here!" she says. This time, her wand hits his shoulder and Takeru tumbles to the side, nearly tripping over his own feet. He rights himself and runs across the road just before traffic hits him too. The girl flies over the cars, and this time instead of passing over him she weaves through the crowds to try and glide beside him.

"Stop!"

Takeru charges around the corner and looks for an escape route, any cafe he can hide into, any –

Cafe Nagi.

He runs towards it. Just before he makes it to the door though, it swings open on him. Blessing already on his tongue, Takeru goes to thank the kind sir when he sees the villainous expression on his face.

_ No way ... _

The man snaps his fingers and blue fire crackles from his fingertips. Takeru takes one step back, and then another, but he feels his blood run cold when he sees the fire separate into several smaller balls that spin faster and faster around the man's hand. Takeru hasn't seen a power like this power, and he swallows thickly. Is this even possible? Can someone have such power –

He squeezes his eyes closed. Behind him, he can hear the thrum of the D-Board's engine as it approaches him.

_ No way. _

_ Thud! _

Takeru's eyes click open just as someone falls before him – a boy dressed in a green and black skinsuit and with wild, pink and blue hair like a superhero. Takeru only sees his eyes for a moment – green eyes, the colour of glass bottles – before he faces forward and swings out one of his hands. From somewhere a sword materialises – a dark blade imbued with electronic lines like those on a motherboard.

"Hey!" the girl shouts, cutting her board sharply around them. She balls her hands in fists, and raises her weapon. To her side, the cafe owner stills his hand, eyes wide –

The new figure swings his sword in an arc around them and the air crackles with thunder. Before Takeru can say anything though, the boy turns around and grabs him around the waist, swinging him forward. Now Takeru can see him, and he lifts his head to spot the boy's green eyes.

And then they jump.

Takeru swallows a scream as his feet leave the solid ground. The little ball on his shoulder grips onto his uniform as they fly through the air, landing neatly atop the roof of a building. As soon as his feet touch the ground, his knees buckle and he falls onto his bottom. His saviour remains standing though, hands on his hips. His weapon is nowhere in sight, and since he hasn't wrapped his hands around Takeru's throat, Takeru breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks," he says with a chuckle. "I think I can say that ... right?"

The stranger tilts his head towards him. Now that Takeru can get a proper look at him, he realises that the boy must be his age or so ... only he's not wearing a school uniform from any school Takeru recognises. He looks like he's cosplaying, or dressing up for a strange, otherworldly festival.

"Um ..." Takeru holds a hand for the boy to shake. "I'm Homura Takeru. What's your –"

To their side, a giant jumbotron screen gives a violent flicker before an image appears. First it's the shot of a woman with pink and grey hair pressing a kiss to the camera, and then she swings the lens around to someone leaning against the rail. It looks like they're high up on a building and looking down at the city below. It's late too, so the camera can't catch all the angles, but Takeru sees flashes of silver hair.

_ "Hi there!" _ the woman on the camera says.  _ "Nice night, isn't it?" _

"H ... huh?" Takeru swallows. Normally, the monitors just show pictures, not advertisements. But maybe in the heart of the city there are jumbotron screen and speakers all around.

_ "I came to film the landscape, and maybe catch a couple more pretty gazes. What about you? Are you a dreamer like me?" _

The figure at the railings doesn't say a word.

_ "I'm filming you by the way, so don't panic when you turn around. And I'm Ema. Bessho Ema –" _

The figure spins around. The shadows obscure his face, but the moonlight catches on the item in his hand: a handgun, the kind that wouldn't be good in combat, but that could easily take someone out.

_ Bam! Bam! _

Blood splatters across the camera lens. The woman – Ema – gives a soft gasp, and the camera shakes in her hand, losing focus of the figure as he bends down and peers into the camera. When he leans back, his face comes into focus: blue eyes, red hair, and white highlights.

Takeru brings a hand up to his cheek. That's – that's his face!

"What a lovely evening it is, dear Ema," the man says, swinging his gun around.

Then the video cuts out and the screen goes black. Takeru sees the reflection of the building in the screen, and he wonders if he can see himself too, just like he's seen himself before, just ...

_ No way. _

The boy on the roof with him swings his arm around, and extending from it is the same, deadly sword covered in coding. It looks even more lethal up close, and the air around it crackles and sizzles. Takeru shirks back and draws his knees up to his chest.

"That – that's not me, I swear –"

The boy draws his weapon closer. His eyes are narrowed into thin, green slits, and his lips pressed in a tight line. "As the anonymous protector of Link Vrains, Fujiki Yuusaku, I will strike down anyone who causes havoc in this virtual world. Homura Takeru, the Colourless Duel King, as ordered by my liege and by my duty to this dueling city, I will strike you down."

“How can you be anonymous though if you just said your name –”

The sword pushes under his chin. Yuusaku leans closer to him, and bits of light dance in his eyes.

“I will end you, Colourless Duel King.”


	4. conDitions

The knife under his chin feels hot, crackling against his skin. Takeru wonders if his skin is burning, or if it'll leave a scorch mark in its wake. Can skin even catch on fire? But as his mind runs in circles, his body becomes paralysed in fear. He's going to die. Yuusaku stands before him, sword pressed to Takeru's throat. He looks livid, and even when Takeru chuckles and tries to say, "Sorry," Yuusaku doesn't draw back his blade.

At his side, the little black energy bubble leaps up and down, tugging at his uniform. Takeru doesn't know where it wants him to go, or even where he can go. If he runs, Yuusaku will surely catch up to him. He looks far more agile than whoever was chasing him before – and who's to say those people won't show up to try and kill him too? There's no safe place for him anywhere.

"E-end me?" Takeru repeats with a nervous chuckle. "What for?"

"You know very well," Yuusaku says.

"I – I really don't," Takeru says, dipping his head forward. His chin bounces on the blade, and Yuusaku drives his sword up further, now lifting Takeru's chin. "Ah – ah, I see what you mean, but really, you have the wrong guy! Sure that looks a bit like me on the screen, but – but you're looking for someone else, not me! That's not me up there!"

Yuusaku presses his lips together. Slowly, he retracts the blade back –

The jumbotron appears with the image once more, this time a still-shot of the white-haired murderer waving a gun in the other. However, this image has been edited: on the side is are a series of numbers: ¥10,000,000.

_ "Ladies and gentlemen and honoured guests, SOL Technologies has a request of the good citizens of Den City and Link Vrains – capture this murderous son-of-a-bitch! His capture will net you ten million yen, or the price you see down below. However, even valuable information will reward you with a generous sum. So if you have any information regarding this murderous freak, please head on down to Cafe Nagi or give us a call. Our telephone number is ..." _

Takeru pales to the colour of milk. "Murderous son of a ... what?"

Yuusaku tilts his head towards the jumbotron once more, and his features split into a grim smile – not big, just a lift of the lips, but Takeru's blood turns cold.

"Looks like SOL Technologies is after you too."

_ That's who must've been chasing me,  _ Takeru thinks. He turns his head to the side, but the blade rises up into his throat and he chokes and coughs. "Hey, I said you have the wrong guy! Now I need to get out of here before those guys find me!"

Yuusaku doesn't budge his hold on his sword.

"Seriously," Takeru mutters. Now he's not even afraid anymore, just annoyed. What? Is this strange figure just going to hold him at swordpoint all day?

Then the sword drops, just a bit, and Takeru sees his golden opportunity. He rushes to his feet, shoes sliding on the flat pavement of the roof, and he makes a run towards somewhere, anywhere –

Something catches on the back of his uniform – a hand – and Takeru tumbles onto his bottom.

"Hey!"

Yuusaku holds onto his collar. He still keeps his distance, but he holds on so tightly that even if Takeru pulls he doesn't move an inch.

"I told you, I'm innocent. Lemme go if you're not going to kill me –"

"Would you like me to?"

"No!" Takeru twists his head around, peeking over his shoulder. Yuusaku hasn't moved a muscle, and though he looks pissed, it's hard to tell his emotion since he appears to show nothing but mild disinterest. Maybe that's what he's feeling all the time though. Who knows.

Takeru huffs and puffs out his cheeks. "Why are you even capturing me? You're not with whoever SOL Technologies are, are you? And so you didn't know about the reward until now. But you want to kill me, so – so why?"

Yuusaku doesn't say anything.

"And – and you saved me from those SOL Tech guys too, so you can't be on their side and wanting to hand me over."

"That's correct. I'm on no one's side –"

"Then let me  _ go,"  _ Takeru pleads, drawing out the last word with a whine. "You have the wrong guy and there's no reason for this. I'm not who you think I am – I'm Homura Takeru, a student at Den City High. Just look at my uniform! I was going to buy fireworks when I got ambushed by SOL Tech, and then you swooped in and saved me, and then you held your sword to my neck! That's who I am, that's what happened, that's the truth! I swear!"

"You must be lying then."

Takeru drops down to a bow, dragging his weight forward so that Yuusaku can no longer tug him around. "Please, listen to me. I'm not who you're looking for, and I don't know how I can get you to believe me, but I'll do anything. Please. I promise."

He peeks up through his bangs, only to find Yuusaku's eyes the same, sharp green as before. "I can never trust you."

Takeru's stomach sinks to the floor.

"But, if I must consult with someone, I can do this." He brings his duel disk up before him and presses various buttons on the screen. It's a model that Takeru doesn't recognise, but despite its prehistoric design, it still has a functioning screen and speaker, and through it Takeru hears something speak.

_ The meal before you _

_ Deserves consideration _

_ So chew thoughtfully. _

During the time the voice has spoken, Yuusaku's face has gone soft, the hard lines of his cheeks smoothed away by the soothing words. His eyes remain open, but for just a second they look muted green like the leaves on a tree. His entire body relaxes, and a faint smile curls on his lips.

"What ... was that?" Takeru asks.

All of Yuusaku's barriers draw back up. He swings his sword around, hooking it under Takeru's chin once more and pulling his head up. Takeru gasps, tilting back – but the blade follows him and remains under his chin.

"What was that?" Yuusaku hisses.

"That – that's what I said!" Takeru sidles back, and this time Yuusaku doesn't follow his movement. With a shake of his head, Takeru says, "What was that voice?"

"The voice of reason," Yuusaku says. By his fierce gaze, Takeru supposes he shouldn't press matters and ask what. However, Yuusaku continues: "Three things, white-haired murder. Three reasons why I should keep you alive. Three –"

"That was a haiku!" Takeru interrupts. "That's why –"

The sword cuts under his jaw once more, and this time Takeru feels a bit of blood dribble down his neck and onto his nice, clean polo shirt. Well, that stain won't come out. It's surprising he didn't start bleeding when Yuusaku stuck the knife under his chin for the first time. Now this tactic just feels silly, like Yuusaku is forcing their gazes to meet so he can judge him.

"Yes," Yuusaku says after a moment. "A haiku that will determine your fate. And ..." With a flick of his wrist, his sword disappears, and both of Yuusaku's hands are at his side. He looks away, towards the late afternoon sun that has begun to set behind the tops of the skyscrapers. "The voice of reasons has spoken."

And he doesn't say anything more.

Slowly, Takeru tilts his head to the side. "And ...?"

"We are to share a meal."

"What?" He doesn't mean to blurt the words out, but they just pop from between his lips before he can wheel them back. He does mean what he said though – what? Why are they sharing a meal after Yuusaku just held him at swordpoint? Why could that possibly be a viable solution? 

But Yuusaku looks nonplussed about it as he gathers himself up and his D-Board materialises before them. He hops on it and then extends his hand to Takeru. "Well?"

"Well  _ what?" _

"Where shall we dine?"

Takeru's eyes widen. "D-dine? No, no – you just tried to stab me! We can't – we can't eat together!"

"At the end of the meal, I might stab you again –"

"That's why!" Takeru rushes to his feet, but holds his ground. "I'm not going to eat with you if you're just going to kill me afterwards. Who – who even thinks like that? No, I'm going ..." The words die on this throat. All around him, he can see the peaks of the tall towers. He's on the roof of the building; the door is behind Yuusaku, but then who knows if it's even unlocked. The only way he has a chance of getting down is jumping off the side, and ... well, Takeru already knows he wouldn't survive.

Grumbling, he turns his gaze to Yuusaku, who hovers on his D-Board with his arm still outstretched. His sword is nowhere in sight, yet Takeru knows it takes simply a flick of the wrist to materialise the weapon. But Yuusaku said he wasn't going to kill him  _ yet,  _ and that they'd eat first.

On cue, Takeru's stomach grumbles loudly.

"Fine," Takeru says. "One meal." He takes Yuusaku's hand and steps up to the board. It's large enough for two people, but Takeru has never stepped foot on a D-Board before. He wobbles slightly. Were Yuusaku wearing a school uniform, or even a jacket, Takeru would have something to hold onto – but instead Yuusaku is wearing a skintight suit, and so Takeru holds onto his arm.

Yuusaku brushes him off. "If you can't hold your balance, sit down."

So Takeru does, hanging his legs over either side of the board. If it slows down Yuusaku's driving he doesn't say anything. Once Takeru is seated, they take off together, dipping over the side of the building. He sucks in a breath as he feels himself falling, but surprisingly the board keeps his body in place even when Yuusaku weaves through the buildings.

From this angle, the city looks so much more more open than Takeru remember sit being. On the ground level, the sidewalks are wide and still the buildings tower over them all. Up here though, the city stretches as far as he can see, and everything seems to be evenly spaced like it was placed on a grid. In the distance, he can even see the water too, a blue expanse larger than any other city. And, out on the water, he sees his high school.

"Can your D-Board go over the ocean?" he asks. "If not, we can take the train."

Yuusaku doesn't say anything, but a minute later, the board dips over the waves. It veers down too, coasting along the water like a surfboard. Before his feet get wet, Takeru pulls his legs up to his chest. He peers over the side and sees his watery reflection staring back at him. On the train, he's always too high to see anything but the lap of the waves. Being this close shows him the crest of the water and and the fish swimming below.

When Yuusaku pulls the board up to disembark on the island, Takeru almost feels sad to see the sight go. Yuusaku takes away the board and lands neatly on the grass. Takeru falls right off it and lands on his side, groaning.

"Some notice," he mutters, rubbing at his side.

Yuusaku glances around at the schoolyards. Considering how young he looks, Takeru is surprised that Yuusaku doesn't go to school too.

"You go to school elsewhere?" Takeru ventures.

"Where's your room?"

"My – my what?"

"Your room," Yuusaku repeats. "Where we will be sharing our meal."

_ That's where we're going?  _ But then that would explain why they're at school and Yuusaku is looking at him expectantly to lead the way to his dorm. Takeru's heart sinks into his stomach. He only has enough food for tomorrow too; he doesn't want to share what he's borrowed from his classmates.

"Did you know," Yuusaku says, raising one finger in the air, "that meals are a basic part of being human, and thus you can learn a lot about a person from a simple mealtime conversation." A pause. "Now do you understand what I'm saying, Homura Takeru?"

"Not in the slightest," Takeru mumbles under his breath.

Yuusaku takes a step forward. He's not that tall, but with Takeru still on the ground, Yuusaku leans over him like a predator looking down on its prey.

"It means that if I eat together with you, I can determine just what sort of person you truly are – and if you are the murderer of Bessho Ema."

"You know," Takeru says, peeking up at Yuusaku with a forced smile, "you could just believe me too."

"The way, please."

With a sigh, Takeru gathers himself up and begins to walk up the stairs towards the school's campus. At this hour, there's still no one in sight, and so he can't even find a way to sneak off and escape Yuusaku ... not that that would work anyway. While he barely got away from the SOL Technologies freaks who were chasing him earlier, he has a sneaking suspicion that Yuusaku is keeping a close eye on him.

_ He did save me though ... so that he can kill me himself.  _ Takeru sighs under his breath. There's no way in hell that he can get away from this situation – and that he'll be able to pass whatever weird test Yuusaku will put him through? How can you truly determine someone's validity over a meal?

On his shoulder, the little creature bounces up and down with his steps. It's been following him all day, and judging by the way it's leaning on his shoulder, it's hungry too.

_ I hope Yuusaku doesn't murder you too ... _

When they reach the top of the stairs and head out onto the courtyard, he sees that most of the student volunteers have already gone home, and those that do remain are huddled around Kiku as she continues to bark orders. She sees him the moment he sees her though, and she waves her hands and starts running towards him.

"Takeru!" she greets. "Thank you for running that errand for me. You came back too! What took you so long?"

"An adventure," Takeru says with a grimace. He holds out the bag of fireworks for her though. Miraculously, none of them were damaged in the mad chase through the city, or on the ride back to the island. Kiku takes them with a warm smile which slowly morphs into a confused expression. She leans to the side and peers around him.

"Is that a friend of yours?"

"Hardly," Yuusaku answers, voice rough.

"N-no, he's not," Takeru adds. "Actually, funny story –"

"I'm Fujiki Yuusaku," he says, and then flicks his gaze over to Takeru, who stands twiddling his thumbs together. "I'm not a student at this school, but I have business with Homura Takeru."

Kiku's smile returns. "Oh, Yuusaku! Nice to meet you! But ..." She rubs her chin for a moment. "Takeru, you must know too ... about the security at our school."

Takeru swallows.

Kiku continues: "Den City High is extremely protective of its students and faculty. You can access the docks and the courtyard without any permission, but if you want to enter the school itself or the dorms, you need a student pass or approval from the principal – and that can take up to five business days to receive!"

"Right ..." Takeru says, and a slow smile spreads over his face. If security is so tight here, then there's no way that Yuusaku will be able to go to Takeru's dorm room. He pats Yuusaku on the shoulder once, ignoring the bristle, and says, "Well, sorry about that, Yuusaku, but it looks like we'll have to reschedule our lunch date. Sorry!" And with those words he spins around and marches towards the school campus, ignoring both Kiku and Yuusaku who watch him with wide eyes.

_ Suckers,  _ Takeru thinks.

"But Takeru, wait."

Takeru freezes.

"All you have to say is please, right? Don't you know who I am?"

_ No – _

"I'm a senior member of the student council!" Kiku pats her chest proudly and her smile grows across her soft face. "That means I have special permissions and privileges at this school, such as issuing guest passes. Really, you should have just asked me – I can do it for you." Her cheeks warm, and quickly she looks down at the duel disk on her wrist. She taps a few buttons onto the screen, and then a moment later she points her duel disk at Yuusaku's.

"Guest pass."

Yuusaku's duel disk glows to life. The screen flickers, and then an image appears: Guest Pass Received.

_ No. _

"There you go!" Kiku says, clapping her hands. "Now you're free to come and go as you please, Yuusaku. Whenever you need to enter the campus, just swipe your pass across the terminal. You're free to access most areas of the school, save for a few restricted sections. But don't worry, most students can't access those anyways! The pass is only good for 48-hours though, so if you plan on staying for longer, then you might need to speak to the school president about that ..."

"That's fine," Yuusaku says, dipping his head forward. "I will attend to matters swiftly."

With each passing moment, Kiku's smile only grows wider. She holds up a hand, a bit like a wave, and says, "Well, I have some more work to do, but Takeru, you're free to head home with your friend. See you – and take care of Takeru, Yuusaku."

"Uh, sure ... leave him to me."

_ He's going to kill me,  _ Takeru thinks with a whine. Yet he leads Yuusaku into the security station at the school, where he shows Yuusaku how to use his guest pass, and then slides along behind him with a wave to the security officer. As he heads on through the school, Takeru realises that this might be his last night at Den City High. This might be the last time he sees Kiku too, or sees or hears anything else in his life. This might be his last night to live. Is this how he pictured it? Having dinner with a sword-wielding pacifist who claims he's not on anyone's side?

Takeru sneaks a glance to his side. Yuusaku's eyes are wide and starry as he gazes up at the twinkling nighttime sky. He hadn't even realised how dark it had gotten, but now he sees that all the courtyard lights are on, leading them down the silent boardwalk into the dormitories. Most of the building lights are on though, and Takeru's dorm tower look like a bright beacon.

"This is where you live?" Yuusaku asks.

"Yeah," Takeru says. "I have my own room though, so we won't have to worry about anyone else being there ..."

Yuusaku nods his head.

Together, they head through the glass doors into a cosy lobby dressed up in mahogany fabrics. There's a little table surrounded by comfy chairs for group studying, and in another corner is a long table with bar stools lining it. Never once has Takeru studied there before.

Takeru leads the way to the elevator that takes them up to the tenth floor, and then down the hallway to his room. Muted noises come from the walls, but despite how typical Japanese houses are built with paper-thin walls, his apartment is surprisingly sturdy and sound-proof. Takeru kicks off his shoes at the entryway, and he hears Yuusaku follow suit. Had he known he'd be entertaining guests, he would have done a better job at cleaning up this morning: there are dishes by the counter and in the sink; and even though he doesn't cook, there are pans on the stove.

"Sorry 'bout the mess."

"It's fine."

The living room fares no better. It's a single room apartment, so against the wall is his bed with the covers mussed up. Then there's his low table that functions both as a desk and as a dining room table, with his TV just off to the side of it. He has a couple bookshelves with textbooks and manga in them, but he hasn't touched any of the volumes in months. While it all looks messy, it also looks sterile, as if he hasn't been home in ages and touched anything.

_ Looks like I don't even live here. _

Yuusaku follows behind him and doesn't say a word. He hovers awkwardly at the start of the living room, appearing unsure whether he should step inside or not. Considering that not that long ago he was holding a  _ sword  _ to Takeru's neck, Takeru is surprised by this change.

"Uh ... you want to have a seat?"

Yuusaku brings an arm up to his wrist, and Takeru flinches, expecting the sword to materialise. However, instead Yuusaku's outfit just changes, morphing from the high-tech skinsuit to casual jeans and a button-down shirt. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Aren't we going to cook?"

"C-cook?"

"Dinner." Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. "Remember, your last meal –”

"I don't cook." Takeru blurts the words out. "Er, I mean, I can ... sometimes ... but I have food in my bag that we can eat. Just wait here." Cheeks burning, he brushes Yuusaku aside and grabs his school bag that he left in the doorway. He returns with the containers he had at lunch time with him, three of which are still filled with side dishes and rice. He spreads them out on the table and opens the lids.

"Oh," is all Yuusaku says. Then: "I sure hope this isn't your last meal."

Takeru nods glumly. Normally, leftovers look delicious, but he bows his head out of embarrassment when he sees the meagre selection of choices. It all looked better at lunchtime, but after running through the city being chased by various people claiming he's some murderer, some of the dishes have blended together. There's still meat though, and rice. No vegetables; he regrets not taking Kiku's vegetable bento.

On his shoulder, the little ball chirps with glee. Takeru picks it up and sets it down on the table. He uses one of the lids as a small plate and scoops out some bites of rice and pork for the creature, and he pushes it to the edge of the table for it.

"What's that?" Yuusaku asks.

"Don't know," Takeru answers. He clears his throat with a soft cough, and peers out of the corner of his eye at Yuusaku. "Well, um, let's eat." He takes another lid and begins to take out pieces of meat and rice. Though some food has already touched, he tries his best to not mix too many flavours together. Then, once the plate is full, he holds it out to Yuusaku.

"Let's eat."

Yuusaku's eyes widen.

"It's for you," Takeru presses, holding the dish out. "What, did you really think I have no manners? It's polite to serve your guest before yourself."

Flecks of pink burst along Yuusaku's cheeks. He takes the plate without a word and sets it down before him. Takeru chuckles to himself and begins to dish up his own food. Sure, it looks pathetic, but he knows it tastes good. His classmates know how to cook well – he's been living off their side dishes for a while now.

Yuusaku waits for them to both have plates before them.

"Thanks for waiting," Takeru says, and he feels a smile flicker on his lips. "Let's eat together."

As far as he can remember, this is the first time he's eaten with someone in a long time. 


	5. Deal

He chews. Swallows. Chews again. Swallows.

To his side, Yuusaku hasn't stopped staring at him with wide, green eyes. No longer quite the malicious sword-wielding duelist he appeared to be, he looks almost cowed at the dining room table. Takeru honestly feels bad for him. He wonders if his cooking tastes terrible; to him, all the food tastes delicious, but then again his palate isn't so refined from eating the scraps of others.

From time to time, Yuusaku does take bites though, but his eyes follow Takeru’s every movement.

_ He said he wasn't going to kill me until after the meal, so ...  _ He swallows thickly. All the food in his belly sloshes around.  _ Does that mean if I leave some food on my dish that he'll spare me? What even is he looking for? What's his criteria on whether or not he should slice and dice me? Can a meal really tell all that much about someone? _

But neither of them say anything. To his side, the little creature has already devoured most of its food, and it looks up at Takeru with wide eyes as if asking for more.

Takeru ignores it.

"Um ..." Takeru gives a soft cough. "Can I ask you some questions, Yuusaku?"

Yuusaku raises his gaze, peering over his chopsticks.

"I mean, if you're busy eating, I won't disturb you, but ..."

"What would you like to know?"

The question surprises Takeru, and he blinks, as if to somehow make sure he heard that correctly. And then he hears his own voice blurt out, "Everything," before he has a chance to pull it back.

Yuusaku doesn't say a word.

"Er, maybe just a couple of things, actually." He rubs the back of his head and glances out the window to the dark courtyard below. "Like about SOL Technologies and those guys who were chasing me. And you had powers ... all of you seemed to have them. What's up with that? And maybe ... maybe about the Colourless Duel King that you are all after, and why everyone seems to think I'm that person."

Takeru shrugs his shoulders and forces out a weak, scratchy laugh. "You know, those sorts of things."

"I see." Yuusaku folds his hands before him, chopsticks in his palms. "You want me to start at the beginning then, back in the First Dimensional War when a group of scientists were conducting top secret research in an attempt to develop a super soldier, after having previously failed to bring the dimensions together or harness any other kind of supernatural powers—"

"Wait, what?"

"And these sequential failures proved to the scientists that they could not fix the dimension at large alone, and thus needed soldiers to conduct the work, thus leading them to experiment on—"

"Woah!" Takeru holds out a hand. "Too much information, too long of a story. How about ... how about cutting to the parts that concern me? Like why I'm being targeted by everyone."

Yuusaku purses his lips together. "I thought you said—"

"If you're going to delay my death, I think I'm going to have a heart attack. Just saying."

"Fine." Yuusaku crosses his arms tightly over his chest, and leans back from the table, chopsticks and food now discarded. "But what you specifically need to know before we talk about matters that concern you is this: the Duel Kings. Who you met on the streets today are the clansmen or followers of the Duel Kings. The Kings themselves aren't royalty or foreign nobility, just beings with extraordinary powers surpassing those of ordinary humans."

"How'd they get those powers?"

"I'm  _ getting  _ there." Yuusaku huffs towards him, and Takeru creeps back with a soft, "Oops."

"Anyways," Yuusaku continues, "there are seven thrones imbued with power from the Dimensional Stone—"

"The what?"

"Not  _ important,"  _ Yuusaku hisses. "And will you stop interrupting me?"

"I feel like you're cutting out valuable parts of the story though."

"Because you asked for the parts about  _ you.  _ Now." Yuusaku clears his throat with a sharp cough, and his green eyes slice through the next question on Takeru's tongue. "The activities of the Duel Kings and their clans affect every aspect of Link Vrains, both from a public and secretive perspective. You could even say that Link Vrains itself is built upon the happenings and decisions of the Duel Kings.

"However, there are seven of them, and thus there is a hierarchy. At the moment, the most powerful Duel King is is the Second King, known as the Queen. She's controlled Link Vrains for over half a century now. She's single-handedly responsible for elevating this country post-war into the beautiful world that it is. But while she's quite the proud, boastful woman, the majority of Link Vrains doesn't know her true name or power. That's the power of Duel Kings: they are omnipresent forces responsible for global changes in our world, and yet we hardly know of them or their decision. We live through the results of their efforts."

"Wow."

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. "It is not just 'wow.' I could even go so far to say that Link Vrains  _ is  _ Queen, but that might be stroking her ego a bit too much. Note though that everything we do, every place we visit, has been created by her power and knowledge."

_ I hope she doesn't want to kill me too,  _ Takeru thinks. But then he sees Yuusaku's eyes on him, waiting to make another comment, and so Takeru drags his chopsticks over his makeshift plate and says, "So then are all the other Duel Kings in other dimensions, or outside of Link Vrains?"

"No," Yuusaku deadpans. "Everyone is here."

"Why?"

"The Dimensional Stone. A new Duel King is always born near the stone, and no one strays too far."

Takeru twists his lips together. "Do their powers not work outside of Link Vrains or something?"

"Potentially." Yuusaku doesn't elaborate. "But as you can guess, seven Duel Kings means seven different priorities and actions. They don't always agree on the same things. For example, you have already met SOL Technologies. They are the Blue Duelists. Then there are the Knights of Hanoi, or the Red Duelists. They have butted heads for many years."

With a sigh, Takeru balances his head in his hands. "Then maybe the Duel Kings need some more space."

"Less space," Yuusaku corrects. "If they are given any more space, their powers will only wreck greater havoc on this world. What stops them is their senses of justice and desire not to hurt innocent bystanders. Keeping them in Link Vrains is crucial to ensuring a peaceful resolution."

"That makes no sense," Takeru mutters into his hand. The more he hears about Duel Kings, the more he begins to suspect that power brings about bizarre abilities and wishes and creates chaos. "But then again ..." Takeru rolls his eyes over to Yuusaku. "Perhaps keeping the Duel Kings contained prevents another outright war. It sounds to me like the Red and Blue Duelists are just fighting on the streets—no big battles, right?"

Yuusaku nods his head.

"And those Duel Kings are watched over by the Gold King. She's a leader to them too ..."

This time, Yuusaku's eyes disappear into his bangs. "You certainly catch on quickly, Homura Takeru."

"Really? Well, I—"

Yuusaku flicks his wrist and his sword appears, swinging around to hook right under Takeru's chin. It scratches the still-tender cut there, and Takeru winces.

"I'm showing interest!" he says.

"Or maybe you're the Colourless—"

"No, I'm  _ not!"  _ Takeru huffs, and his chin bumps along the blade, causing another small incision. "I'm not, Yuusaku. I'm just asking questions. But now I have one more for you: who's the Colourless Duel King and why are they called that?"

"No one knows. There was a previous Colourless Duel King who acted like a remedial force between the dueling Red and Blue Kings. However, the Colourless Duel King passed on—"

"How do you know?"

"What?"

"How do you know the old Colourless Duel King died? Didn't you say no one knows him?"

Yuusaku merely raises an eyebrow. "That is not important to the story. What  _ is  _ important is that the current Colourless Duel King—in other words, you, Homura Takeru—murdered a member of SOL Technologies, Bessho Ema, and stoked a battle between them and the Knights of Hanoi. I believe your true purpose is to create disorder and chaos in Link Vrains and draw out all the other Duel Kings."

Yuusaku draws his blade out from under Takeru's chin and spins it through the air. "This is Decode Talker, my trusted blade. As the anonymous duelist of Link Vrains, I will not stand by and let someone wreck this peaceful virtual world. Thus, if I deem the Colourless King to be evil, I will  _ slay him—" _

"Wait!" Takeru throws up his hands. With the blade no longer under his neck or near his neck, he leaps forward and grabs Yuusaku's hand. Yuusaku retaliates as if stung, and he holds the blade out before him. Takeru doesn't advance this time; instead, he holds out a hand. His breath comes in small, gaspy pants.

"Wait!" Takeru says again. "You can't just kill me because you  _ think  _ I'm someone else. You have no proof—"

"I have all the proof I need."

"Well then your blindness scares me!" Takeru balls his hands in fists. Though his legs quiver beneath him, he holds himself up and away from the table. He hears the creature squawk something next to him, but Takeru ignores him. "You're looking for the Colourless King. I get it. But no one said to go off slicing and dicing Homura Takeru who  _ is  _ me. That's my name. I go to this school and I'm friends with Kiku, that girl you met.

"You need proof before you kill someone, or else you'll just be another murderer just like the Colourless King. So you can't kill me right now. If you really, truly think I'm that creep on the jumbotron who shot Bessho Ema, then fine. Believe it. But have some proof instead of blindly accepting whatever theory comes to your mind—and not simply just eating dinner with me. What have you figured out from this? That I'm actually  _ not  _ a murderer? I hope so."

With a huff, Takeru sits back down at the table. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his head. In the corner of his eye, he can see the little red, purple, and black creature standing on the empty lid, but Takeru has no more food for it, and he's not about to ask Yuusaku if he minds sharing his leftovers.

"You have a point," Yuusaku says at last.

"Finally."

A screen pops up just in front of his eyes. Takeru screams. It's the Colourless King holding a gun to the camera, a twisted grin split across his face. It's the same sight they saw on the jumbotron earlier.

"Is this enough proof, Colourless Duel King?"

"No!" Takeru hisses. "You have the wrong person."

But this time, Yuusaku's eyes narrow to deadly slits. "Then how about you prove me wrong."

Takeru throws his arms up in the air. "How about a doppleganger then? Or someone who looks a bit like me, but the lighting made them look  _ more  _ like me? Or Photoshop—hell, that stuff is super popular at my school! Everyone's editing their photos nowadays!"

"Really? Editing photos to make themselves look like murderers?"

"You know what I mean," Takeru says, growling out the final syllables. "But you're so stubborn and blind you wouldn't understand that. If you kill me, you'll have innocent blood on your hands and some pretty big guilt. I bet you don't want that, oh pacifist duelist. So ..." Takeru folds his arms once more. "Starting right now, I'll try my hardest to prove my innocence to you, so long as you stop sticking your sword under my chin. All right?"

Yuusaku tilts his head to the side.

On the table, the little creature starts banging the lid up and down, creating a dull racket that Takeru offhandedly shushes.

Takeru's grin widens. "You can watch over me until you're satisfied, all right? We'll get a permission slip from the principal and everything. That way, even if you assume I'm the murderer, I can't do anything else while under your careful eye. Then, when the true murderer is caught, my innocence will be proven."

_ Tap, tap, tap. _

"Sound like a plan?"

Yuusaku's teeth sink into his lip.

_ Taptaptap— _

_ Pop! _

The little creature explodes in the middle of the table, only instead of splattering everywhere, it just turns into two, small, alien-shaped creatures, one purple and one red, who roll across the surface. Then they leap to their feets and run back into each other.

"What was that for?" the purple one says.

"My fault? Do not throw your blame around so carelessly," the red one says.

"Oh I'll throw something at you!"

They collide into each other with a small  _ thump!,  _ and then roll together all across the table, kicking aside empty containers and used chopsticks. Takeru's mouth drops to the floor. They're ... alive? And there's more than one? In all the commercials he's seen, these little creatures are silent, cute blobs often adored by young children. These creatures hardly look child-friendly as they spit curses and flip each other off.

To his side, Yuusaku looks equally surprised. He's even dropped his sword to the floor, and he stares wide-eyed at the spectacle on the table.

"What ... are you?" Takeru gasps.

They don't pay attention to him, continuing their rolling and wrestling.

_ "Ahem,"  _ Takeru says. "I said, what are you?"

"Oh!" The little purple one raises its head from the tuffle and, though it has no mouth, it appears to smile. "I'm Ai."

_ Thwap!  _ goes the red one's hand over Ai's head. "He means  _ what _ we are, not  _ who  _ we are."

"Well I am not a  _ what,  _ I am a  _ who—" _

"My name is Flame," the red one says. "And we're ignises."


	6. pleDge

"W-who is that?" Takeru asks, words stumbling over his quivering lips. There are  _ two  _ ignises on the table, now engaged in some bizarre wrestling move that involves pulling the ligaments off of one another. For a brief second, Takeru wonders if ignises can be injured, or worse die, and he swallows thickly and shoves his hand between the scuffle.

"Stop—stop, please!"

Both Ignises snap their heads up to him. Though they have no mouths, and are nearly identical in size and shape, they both have a different sort of glint in their eyes. Ai, the purple one, looks younger and more youthful, and his cheeks bunch up into a little smile. Flame, the red one, has tighter, sterner features, yet by the slant of his eyes, he looks to be thinking of something trickstery or mischievous.

"Mr. Soulburner!" Flame shouts and leaps towards his face.

Takeru brings his hands up to shield himself and steps back. "Ah, hey—you—"

"Not you—Flame," the ignis says. "Call me by my name if you're gonna be staring at me—"

"I wasn't—"

_ "Ahem."  _ Yuusaku interrupts them all with a soft yet firm clearing of his throat, and he gazes around at all three of them. Flame's hand is on Takeru's cheek, pulling the soft skin there. On the table, Ai watches Yuusaku with wide, sparkling eyes, looking ready to jump onto Yuusaku shoulder at any moment.

"That's enough," Yuusaku says to them. "And what are you doing in this house?"

It's Ai who speaks up. "We live here," he says. "So what are  _ you—" _

"How?" Takeru interrupts. He glances from Ai to Flame. "How do you live here?"

"Don't you remember?" Ai says, rubbing his chin with a round, fingerless hand. "You fed us, kept us warm, snuggled up next to us on the bed ..."

Takeru's cheeks burn scarlet. Now he remembers—not how he adopted them, that's still a mystery, but he remembers curling up with the little ball on the roof, or feeding it bits and pieces from his lunch. He even remembers taking it to gym class with him and letting it sit on the ledge in the shower, which means ...

Flame's mouthless grin stretches across his face. "We've been with you all this time."

_ No way ...  _ Takeru thinks. Surely though he would have spotted two ignises fused together, so then why didn't he question any of this before? Wouldn't he have clued in to the bizarity of the situation?

Fortunately, Yuusaku speaks up. "They have the power of perception manipulation. You've never questioned it because your perception has been altered."

Takeru breathes a sigh of relief. Sure, it might be weird to think that two ignises have been following him around, but at least—

_ Clink! _

Decode Talker, Yuusaku's trusted blade, slips under Takeru's chin. "However, it appears your true nature has revealed itself over the meal, Colourless Duel King. Regardless of how much you knew, ignises are rare, supernatural beings only shown on television in commercials for children. If you have sided with these creatures, then you are likely to be involved in other activities. You knew these creatures very well, and  _ that  _ sort of perception cannot be altered."

Takeru heaves a sigh. "Can you seriously put your sword away?"

Ai lets out a low whistle. "That's long. You compensating for something, Mr. Player. No ... no, Mr. Playmaker—"

Yuusaku swings his sword around, narrowly clipping off the top of Ai's head. Ai scurries across the table and dives onto Takeru's opposite shoulder. Now he has both ignises on his head, and the little creatures make faces at one another. Takeru heaves yet another sigh, and peers through his bangs up at Yuusaku, still holding his blade out before him.

"I really don't know," he says. "I'd love to know why these ignises were with me—"

"We're yours—"

"Until the day you die!"

"—but I'm afraid even I don't have any answers." Takeru plucks Ai and Flame from his shoulders by the little curls on their heads, and he gently sets them down on the coffee table. Ai's eyes widen when he sees food remains on Yuusaku's discarded plate, and he happily skips over and eats away. Flame stays closer to Takeru, eyes narrowed on Decode Talker.

Yuusaku flicks his gaze to all of them, then flicks his wrist to dematerialise his sword. He settles back down at the low table, one hand absently scratching at his chin. He doesn't speak to any of them, or even acknowledge that they're there. Takeru wonders if it's wise to interrupt Yuusaku and ask if he's going to leave now, or if he's made his decision on whether or not he'll spare his life. But then again, if he rushes Yuusaku, then that might only assist Yuusaku in choosing to kill him.

"Y'know, Mr. Playmaker, you could always ask  _ us  _ why we're tagging along with Takeru," Ai says, sauntering over from the table. His belly looks full, and he pats it with both hands as if banging a drum. "We have  _ loads  _ of private, top secret information—"

"No."

Ai stops moving and tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

"Because you're untrustworthy."

"Hey!" Ai pushes his hands on his hips and leans forward. "Flame and I are very trustworthy, I'll have you know."

"You're idiots too," Yuusaku adds, more of an afterthought than a strong statement. Ai's entire body grows with a great huff, but instead of blowing up or warping perception or using any kind of strange magic, he just stomps his feet on the table and marches back over to Takeru and then throws a strong punch at his shoulder.

"Hey!" Takeru says with a wince. "What was that for?"

"You're an idiot."

"Uncalled for—"

"A  _ big  _ idiot," Flame says, chuckling under his breath.

Takeru feels like he could crawl under a rock and die, and he considers rolling himself under his bed frame and never coming out. Yuusaku would take a stab at him though, and the ignises wouldn't leave him alone either. Unless he resolves this situation and gets Yuusaku to leave, there will be no way he'll achieve peace and quiet ever again.

"Homura Takeru, the Colourless King—"

"Wait." Takeru raises a hand before Yuusaku can strike him; his sword hasn't materialised, but within Yuusaku's stormy eyes Takeru can see an even greater power brewing, a power that he hopes he'll never witness. "Wait. I think there's been a lot of misunderstandings, and these ignises have nothing to do with the Colourless Duel King. You can't use them as proof to kill me, all right?"

"Colourless Duel King?" Ai raises an eyebrow. "That some kind of special move?"

"Or special person?" Flame adds.

Takeru tilts his head to the side, as if to say,  _ See.  _ Yuusaku huffs in annoyance.

"There's no way these situations can be related, so you'll have to find another reason to kill me. In the meantime though, we should probably—"

_ Knock. Knock. _

Takeru swallows thickly, eyes flicking to the door. No one ever comes to visit him. Period. Though all of his classmates know where he lives, and his name is even on his door, it's not like anyone would come looking for him for help with their homework or even to hang out. And considering today he was just running for his life from SOL Technologies, that could only mean ...

Takeru leaps from the ground and dives under the bed. It doesn't matter how foolish he looks, it doesn't matter if Yuusaku tries to stab him. If SOL Technologies is after him, the best he can do is hide and hope they don't go looking for him.

His plan is thwarted, however, when Ai and Flame try to crawl under the bed too. Ai comes bounding first, loudly proclaiming, "Mr. Soulburner! Mr. Soulburner, why are you under the bed? "

"Shh!"

"Move," Flame says.  _ "I'm  _ going to hide with him—"

"You?" Ai scoffs. "I'll imprint on him first."

_ You'll  _ what? But Takeru doesn't have time to interrogate either of them. He shushes them once more and grabs them both in his hands. They squirm and complain for a second, and then settle in his warm palm.

Then Yuusaku's face appears. Though he doesn't smirk, there's a terrible glint in his eye that makes Takeru's stomach curdle like hot milk. "Oh, were you expecting someone? Let's greet them—"

"No—"

Yuusaku snatches Takeru's ankle and heaves him out from under the bed. The moment he feels his belly slide across the carpet, Takeru stretches out his hands and grabs onto one of the wooden boards holding up his mattress. He pinches his fingers in the process and winces, but it's little damage compared to the likely death he'll face if Yuusaku tugs him free—and Yuusaku seems intent on making that a reality, pulling and tugging at him with all his strength. Yuusaku groans too, and Takeru wriggles from side to side.

"No!" Takeru says, twisting himself round and round, hoping to shake off Yuusaku's grip.

"Let ... go ..."

In his hands, Ai and Flame begin to shout. Ai slips through Takeru's fingers and charges down his spine and leg to attack Yuusaku, while Flame runs to his hand and holds onto one of the boards, using his legs to keep himself attached to Takeru.

_ Click. _

Takeru holds his breath.

"Takeru? Takeru, are you home? I thought you might be hungry, and I wanted to thank you for your help today with the festival, so I brought you some plums—"

Takeru barely hears the rest of the words, for at that moment his hands slip free of his hold on the bar, and Yuusaku pulls him roughly. Takeru goes slipping out from under the bed. He squints his eyes closed as he feels his belly drag along the rough carpet, but then he feels cotton, and flesh, and his eyes snap open once more. He lies sprawled across Yuusaku's legs; his own legs are up in Yuusaku's face. They're both lying on the ground, so close that Takeru can feel Yuusaku stiffen and his breath stop, and his own breath halts too.

"What a compromising position you've found yourselves in," Ai says, rubbing his chin.

"It's not ..." But Takeru doesn't get the rest of the words out when he sees Kiku in the doorway, mouth open. She didn't drop the bag of peaches, thank goodness, but she holds them limply in her hands, her mind far too focused on the sight in front of her.

Then Takeru's vision spins as he's roughly thrown off of Yuusaku. He rolls across the ground and bumps into the bookcase along the wall. His min spins in circles, and when at last he can see clearly again, Kiku's face is inches from his own. She's crouched in front of him, skirt tucked under her legs. She purses his lips at him.

"What's going on, Takeru?"

"It's not what it looks like!" Takeru squeaks.

Sitting on the table, Ai and Flame chuckle loudly.

"Oh miss," Flame says, drawling the words out in a deep, gravelly voice. "It is exactly what it looks like."

Kiku's face turns as red as his. Takeru can't blame her. Even Yuusaku, pressed up against the wall, looks hot and flustered, refusing to meet any of their gazes as he brushes himself off.

Slowly, Kiku stands up and straightens her skirt too. "I ... see. Well, I was coming to say that, if you'd like, tomorrow we can ask the principal for an extension on Yuusaku's guest pass ..."

"That won't be necessary." Yuusaku clears his throat with a sharp cough, and then turns to face them. Remnants of his blush remain on his ivory cheeks, but he pretends as if that's all in the past. "In fact, I'll be speaking personally with your school principal tomorrow about attending your school, and namely his class—"

"Oh!" Kiku claps her hands together. "I thought you might have wanted to be a student!"

"Wait, wha—"

"Starting tomorrow," Yuusaku says, rolling his sharp gaze to Takeru, "I will be in your class. It's as you said: the best way to prove your innocence is to be with you at all times. That's what you wanted, right? Well, now it is the truth." And with those words Yuusaku crosses the room and settles down at the table once more. He sits back straight and rigid, with his head bowed, and speaks to none of them.

Takeru lets his mouth hang open like a broken trap.

"This house is about to get crowded, huh?" Ai says with a smirk. "But don't worry, Mr. Soulburner—"

"Mr.  _ who?" _

"I will protect you from Mr. Playmaker no matter what—

"No, no—you can't be—" Takeru spins his head around. "Yuusaku, that's not what I meant at all, not at my school. I—"

"How else were you expecting to prove your innocence?"

"Some other way—"

"Oh I'd like to see that," Ai quips.

But Yuusaku ignores them and turns to face Kiku, who stands in the room toying with the plastic bag in her hands. The flush on her cheeks is still visible, and she keeps eyeing the door as if perhaps wondering whether or not she should take her leave.

"Is there anything I will need from your school? Paperwork?"

"A uniform, maybe," Kiku says. "Takeru, do you have a spare one?"

"I-In my closet." He pulls himself up to his feet and heads to the closet, but just as he begins to open the doors, Yuusaku says, "That won't be necessary. I'll wear my regular attire."

Takeru closes the closet with a soft click. "All right then ..." he says, and mutters under his breath, "So long as you don't whip out your sword at me, I guess." Then he purses his lips together as he realises something. Kiku will be taking her leave soon, and the ignises will be staying here, but ... "Um, Yuusaku, I was wondering where you are ..."

To his surprise, Yuusaku's cheeks flush. He turns his head to the side and says, "I'll need to keep an eye on you to ensure you don't escape."

_ Right. _

Kiku interrupts them with a soft cough and brushes her feet together. "Well, I guess if you two are settled, then I'll leave these peaches with you. Um ..." She dips down for quick bow, and adds, "Thank you, Takeru, for your help today. And ... see you in class tomorrow, you two."

Takeru sees her off with a wave, but the moment the door closes, his stomach sinks to his toes. Yuusaku stands in the middle of the room, glancing from left to right as if waiting for Takeru to do something. He seems unsure of how to ask for anything, or too embarrassed to do it in the first place, so Takeru heads off to the bathroom and finds a spare blanket for him. When he returns, he tosses it to Yuusaku, who fumbles with the blanket and raises an eyebrow.

"Are you really going to sleep on the ground? Here, you can have a pillow too ... unless you want to sleep on the bed—"

"This is fine." Yuusaku glances down at the pillow by his feet and the blanket in his hands. "This is fine."

"Right." Takeru forces a smile. "Well, it's late, so, um ... I'm going to sleep." He waits for Yuusaku to disagree, but no such response comes. "Right, then ... night." He climbs into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He debates facing the wall or facing Yuusaku, and in the end facing Yuusaku wins out only because he worries that, if he faces the other way, Yuusaku might gut him in his sleep.

Both Ai and Flame scurry along the blankets and up to his chin, tucking in right next to him just as they have every night before. Within seconds, they're both asleep, blowing soft breaths against Takeru's cheeks. Yuusaku sleeps on the floor by the table, upright, with the blanket and pillow next to him. In the moonlight, his eyes glow glassy-green, and Takeru wonders if he'll ever go to sleep; he doesn't find out though, for his eyes drift close long before he even sees Yuusaku begin to tire. 


	7. eviDence

"You, um, ready?"

"Yes."

Takeru has to admit, Yuusaku cleans up well. He's not sure how he can look so fine when he's pretty sure Yuusaku didn't sleep last night, but surprisingly today Yuusaku is as awake as ever. He refused to wear the school uniform once again, but he looks school—ish enough in jeans and a t—shirt. Not once has Takeru seen Decode Talker, and he absently rubs the scratch on his chin. Maybe it'll finally get a chance to heal.

Ai and Flame make themselves busy running through the house, peering into cupboards and slamming doors. They're both eager to go to school too, and Takeru promised them so long as they are quiet during class that he'll let them come along.

Once they're all ready, Ai and Flame hop onto his shoulders. Ai tries to leap over to Yuusaku, but he's swatted away before he can even make the jump. So instead, both ignises cling to the lapels of his jacket as Takeru locks up his room and then heads down the hallway. Yuusaku follows him, lagging around a bit.

They don't even make it to the end of the hallway before Kiku appears.

"Takeru, nice to see you."

Takeru raises an eyebrow. "Nice to see you, Kiku." He raises the other eyebrow. Normally, no one pays attention to him in the morning so long as he doesn't swipe their food. Even Kiku, who he knows has a crush on him, doesn't talk with him until lunchtime; she doesn't even sleep in the same dorm building as him. She must have been waiting for him then.

"I thought you might be hungry," Kiku says, bowing her head a bit, "so I brought you breakfast ... and a bit of lunch, though you might want to have some rice too ..." She presents him with a small, wrapped bento—and then she holds out another one, this time for Yuusaku. "For both of you."

Yuusaku pushes it away. "I don't want that."

Takeru's mouth nearly drops open. To refuse food?

"Well, I'll take it then," Takeru says, happily scooping up the second helping. "If you starve to death, you won't be able to kill me, all right? Remember that."

Yuusaku says nothing more.

The trio heads into the school building, first under a pair of tall, stone arches, and then through a series of long, winding hallways. Though there are quite a few students at Den City High, the sheer size of the building spreads them all out, and in fact the hallways and classrooms look rather empty. Takeru's classroom is loud though; despite it being towards the back of the building, he hears it as soon as he steps through the entryway.

When they head inside, it's nothing short of mayhem in the room as everyone is out of their seats and sitting on their desks, chatting amiably with friends who they probably just saw this morning. Takeru carries his backpack over to his desk, and then glances over his shoulder at Yuusaku, who sits down right next to him. He has no backpack, no books, no writing utensils—and yet he still insists on attending class.

"Maybe you should go and talk to the principal first," Takeru suggests. "Y'know, seeing as how you're not a student—"

"And let you out of my sight? Never."

Takeru sighs noisily through his nose. "We're going to have to be separated, you know? Like, what if I have to use the bathroom or something?"

Yuusaku's cheeks darken. "That will be the only exception then—but then I'll just have to put a tracking system on you to ensure you don't slip away."

"You can just trust I'll come back," Takeru says with a quiet laugh. "Seriously."

"Or we can spy for you," Ai adds. "We'll keep a good eye on him." He wriggles the skin above his eyes for emphasis.

 _No,_ Takeru thinks to himself. _Why did it have to turn out like this?_ Sure, he was the one who suggested that Yuusaku could monitor him to ascertain he isn't the Colourless Duel King, but now the entire plans just seems ridiculous and a complete waste of time. At the very least, if SOL Technologies comes after him then Yuusaku will protect him.

When the teacher enters the room, his eyes zero onto Yuusaku at once and he opens his mouth.

Takeru beats him to it though: "This my friend, Fujiki Yuusaku. He'll be joining us."

From across the room, Kiku adds, "You should receive the paperwork from the principal soon. For now though, please welcome him to the class."

The teacher merely shrugs his shoulders and continues on with the lesson. Takeru sinks into his chair, breathing a sigh of relief. He feels both ignises clambering around in his pocket, and being bent down into his chair, he can let them run freely across his lap so long as they are quiet.

Yuusaku doesn't say a word all class. He doesn't raise his hand or take notes, and while he looks straight ahead at the board, Takeru assumes he's just blanking out and daydreaming. When it comes around for lunchtime, he awkwardly coughs to get Yuusaku's attention, and then begins to pull out the bentos. He doesn't have to steal today: Kiku has packed him more than enough rice and boiled vegetables, and in one little container is a small amount of apples cut into the shape of bunnies.

Eagerly, Takeru digs in. He doesn't have to worry about anyone making a racket about Ai and Flame, so both of them climb on top of the table and happily much along with him. Yuusaku sits rigidly though.

"You going to eat something?" Takeru says between mouthfuls. "It's not poisoned, y'know. Kiku even makes good food."

Yuusaku purses his lips tightly.

"Maybe"—Takeru's smile widens—"if you share another meal with me, you'll come to see I'm not the murderer you think I am."

Yuusaku's twists his head away.

"Suit yourself then," Takeru says after a moment, and continues eating, occasionally sharing small bites with Ai and Flame who can't seem to get enough of anything.

Despite the presence of Yuusaku and the ignises, no one seems interested by the newcomers. As Takeru gazes around, he sees that no one is even batting an eye to Yuusaku who isn't wearing a school uniform, or the two ignises who, as Yuusaku once mentioned, are supernatural beings only ever seen in children's commercials. Yet the day is treated as normally as can be—in fact, even more so.

Takeru leans forward in his seat and whispers to Flame, "So are you using your perception skills to make it so my classmates aren't surprised by your appearance?"

Flame just grins.

"Would you like them to lose their shit?" Ai adds. "It would be quite the sight, lemme tell you."

Takeru doesn't, but it also worries him that the one person that can see what's going on is Kiku, and she keeps looking at him and smiling as if she has a secret of her own. He opens his mouth to ask why Kiku seems unaffected, but Yuusaku beats him to it.

"I'm prepared to strike you down at any minute, did you know that?"

"Yeah, that's nice," Takeru says absently, and takes another bite of his food. "I'd like to see Ai and Flame try using their perception skills on that one. What, are they going to censor my death or something?"

"He could make your death look like an accident though," Ai says, curling his face up to a devilish smirk.

"Or I can just prove my innocence, as I've been doing this entire time. Let's see though ..." He taps the edges of his chopsticks to his chin, and then, once he has the idea in his head, spins around to face Yuusaku. "I just have to prove that I couldn't have been there at the scene of the crime, right?"

"Right."

"So when was that? Y'know, seeing as how I wouldn't know that because I _wasn't there."_

Yuusaku rolls his eye, but answers. "On the rooftop of the building in Den City, at 23:45 on December 7. The date and time were stamped on the video recording; the location I confirmed by visiting the scene of the crime myself."

"All right, so I just have to give you an alibi for that exact date and time. Easy." Takeru crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm a student here on campus on an island. The only way off this island, besides that wild D—Board you have, is by the train that crosses over the water."

"You could have left campus—"

"Not without being tracked, I couldn't have. This school is wild about protection, so there's a GPS that tracks my every location on campus. However, while it can't tell you where I am outside of campus, I do have to enter and exit those checkpoints we passed through at the front of the school. Those record my comings and goings. So if I left the school on December 7, my duel disk would tell me."

Ai chuckles. "Isn't it so easy to glitch those things and sneak out?"

"Not really," Takeru says with a nervous laugh. "Some kids at school tried once, but it didn't turn out so well."

Yuusaku seems interested though, eyes wide and his expression not quite so lethal. "Fine. Show me your duel disk."

"Sure," Takeru says, and reaches into his pocket—

And freezes. It's ... not there. He shoves his hand deeper into his pants pocket, and then into the next one. He checks his jacket pocket too, and inside his backpack. However, his duel disk is nowhere to be found.

Yuusaku drums his fingers along the edge of the desk.

"Well, I'll have to show it to you when we get back to my dorm because ..." He rubs the back of his head and chuckles. "I think I left it in my room, probably on my bedside table. I forget it all the time too; it's not like you need it to go to class or something. Heh, the battery might even be dead ..."

Lips curled, Yuusaku leans forward. "If you battery is dead and you forget it all the time, just how do you leave campus then? Didn't you leave yesterday? I don't remember seeing you have it then either."

Takeru leans back in his seat and laughs it off with a wave. "With my face pass," he says, and smiles. "Seriously, the guards know my face better than anyone else's in the whole school, so they just let me through every day with a wave. I think they've given up on reminding me—"

"So we can't even use your duel disk as evidence then, seeing as how you never use it?"

"Oh." Takeru bites his lip to hide his smile, and then, when he feels a giggle bubble up in his throat, he takes another bite of his lunch. "Yeah, I guess that wouldn't work either."

Yuusaku doesn't look nearly as pleased by this, his eyebrows dropping into a point in the middle of his forehead. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at everyone in the room. After a moment he adds, "Just so we're clear, classmates vouching for you doesn't count either."

But at that moment, Takeru remembers something else—something important about his classmates. He claps his hands together and says, "Oh wait, December 7 was the night of the Naoki Self—Destruction Incident."

 _Clack!_ goes a chair in chair in the classroom, swiftly followed by the _bang!_ of footsteps and the _slam!_ of a door, and suddenly there is one less person in the room. Takeru turns his gaze towards Kiku though, who stares at him with wide, hollow eyes as if remembering a tragic, fateful day.

"What day?" Yuusaku growls.

Takeru's smile widens. "It all began on December 7, as we were preparing for the festival late into the night when everyone wanted to be home and asleep—"

"Takeru," Kiku says. "How about I tell it, actually ..."

Takeru chuckles. "Yeah, you might remember it more than I do."

Kiku nods her head, and then twists her hands together. Under her breath, she murmurs, "For Takeru," and then she begins her story.

* * *

It's been a long day planning for the festival, from hauling boxes from the storage building to the courtyard, then setting up the tents. There's sorting too, and sometimes re—packaging and carrying because a box is transported to the wrong part of the courtyard. She didn't even plan for it to be that long of a day, but suddenly the sun had disappeared and the moon had risen, and they were all working well into the night.

For the most part, everyone seems to be doing their part without complaint, even despite it being late into the night. However, just as Kiku is helping someone unpack tent poles, she hears the student council president, Serena, bellow, "Naoki, get your ass down from there right now."

Kiku dares to look up.

Standing from the balcony of the school's clock tower is none of than Shima Naoki, a classmate of hers. Though it's dark, both the moon and the school's exterior lights make him clearly visible, and appear as a beacon standing atop the fence around the balcony. Even from this far up, Kiku can see his legs shaking, and his whole face quivering.

_What is he ..._

"To my dearest Mr. Playmaker!"

_Oh no._

"You are my first thought in the morning, and the last thought before I go to bed. I think of you every second of every minute of every hour of every day, and I wish I could think about you more and more. Our time together has been too short, so now ..."

"Get down from their right now, you asshat," Serena bellows into the microphone.

But Naoki doesn't. He stands tall and proud, and spreads his arms out high. "On this night, I confess my eternal, undying love for my hero, Playmaker, and hope you will join me."

Then, in the silence of the night, Kiku hears something begin to fizzle, starting off like the sound of someone opening a can of pop and letting the carbonation bubble. Behind her, she hears someone murmur, "Hey, have you seen the fireworks?" and someone else answer, "I think Naoki had them last ..."

And then the sky bursts into every colour of the rainbow, sparkling and fizzing and bubbling like a hundred cans of soda all opened at once and drenching the sky in a thousand colours. Naoki must have brought up every single firework they bought with him, and set them all around the balcony, for Kiku has never seen such bright lights before, and all set off at once.

And yet, through all the noise and chatter and screaming, Naoki—without a microphone—rings clear: "Goodbye, my virginity!"

The courtyard dissolves into chaos. The student council president, Serena, charges into the building to apprehend Naoki, leaving Kiku with the megaphone that she can barely hold in her shaking palms. All around her, students run around, though some seem to find this scene endlessly amusing and have been filming the entire production on their duel disks. To her side, she sees someone who must be from the photography club using a fancy camera to snap shots of Naoki and the fireworks.

Then the chanting starts.

"Goodbye, my virginity!" screamed by at least two dozen youth, the majority male and siding with Naoki. It's screamed over and over again into the dead of night, until at last Serena appears above them on the balcony and drags Naoki down.

Then silence.

Horrible, ugly silence.

* * *

"Y'know," Takeru says with a laugh, "I don't remember it being all that bad."

"It was," Kiku says, moaning into her hands. She's buried her face in her palms, too embarrassed to meet anyone's eyes. Naoki hasn't even come back into the class. "It's going to go down in the history books as the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to Den City High."

"Why're you embarrassed though?" Ai asks. "Are you a Playmaker fanboy too?"

"Because—because those were my fireworks!"

Takeru rubs at his hair. "I don't see what's so embarrassing about that, Kiku ... but anyways." He turns to Yuusaku, who throughout the entire story has maintained a level, apathetic stare. "There is proof everywhere, on everyone's phones and duel disks, and probably in the school newspaper too."

Yuusaku clicks his tongue once. "Proof that it happened, but not proof that you were there that night."

"Well—well—" Takeru glances from left to right at everyone holding out there phones, and then says, "Hey, does anyone see me on there?"

To his surprise, his classmates don't ignore him, but instead yank out there devices and begin searching through the footage. It's all time—stamped and safely saved away on their duel disks, so there's no way anyone could fiddle with the date and time on the footage—and there's so much of it too, dozens of videos and hundreds of photographs taken of the fireworks, crowd, and Naoki himself standing and bellowing his undying love for Playmaker.

"Is that you?" Ai says to Yuusaku.

Yuusaku presses his hand over Ai to muffle his words. His eyes search over the files too, irises flickering like the wild flame of a candle. Takeru finds himself lost in that gaze instead of looking through the photographs and videos, and so when someone shakes his shoulder, it takes him a moment to come to. He rubs his head and chuckles, but then his expression hardens when he sees that Kiku isn't smiling.

"You're not there, Takeru."

"You—you sure?" Takeru says. "There's got to be at least _one_ photo of me."

But everyone shakes their heads. Takeru sighs noisily. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuusaku's hackles raise and his hand slide to the side to where he's sheathed Decode Talker. Takeru swallows, preparing to run. Surely Yuusaku won't pull out a _sword_ in the middle of a classroom, right? He has more common sense than that. But Yuusaku's expression is lethal, eyes burning, and so Takeru raises a hand in apology.

"Well, that idea didn't work."

"Well?" Yuusaku hisses back.

"But." Takeru holds up a finger. "Hope is not lost, at least not yet. There's still more places to check out."

"Like where?"

"Like—like—"

"The newspaper club," Kiku says. "I saw them there that night with their high—tech cameras and everything. Not only would they have captured every second of that tragic night, but they'd have the highest—quality footage too. If anyone can help us out, they can." She gives a definitive nod, and then brings a hand up to her cheek. "Um, if you'd like, Takeru, I can take you there ... and you too, Yuusaku."

Yuusaku pushes himself off of the desk and begins to head for the door. "Lead the way," he says, though by that point he's nearly out of the doorway, Ai scampering after him. Takeru checks to make sure Flame is with him before he heads out after Yuusaku, and then Kiku follows them to the hallway.


	8. inciDent

At the end of the hallway where it forks off into several different directions, Yuusaku waits for them to follow him, or to lead the way. Takeru isn't quite sure. He himself isn't familiar with these hallways to begin with. They all look too unfamiliar, as if he's only ever travelled to a handful of areas in his school. The walls and doors look differently-coloured, and he doesn't recognise a single detail in this area. However, as part of the student council Kiku knows her way around, and she leads them into a room with a singular, wooden desk in the centre, and a cluster of smaller tables and chairs in the nearest right corner. There are bookcases on the wall. Behind the desk are large, floor to ceiling windows through which he can see the courtyard and the soccer field.

Sitting at the desk is a girl with dark purple hair tied up in a ponytail atop her head, and fastened with a large, yellow ribbon that juts out in spikes. Her green eyes don't rise even when they stand directly before her desk, and Kiku rouses her attention with a soft clearing of her throat.

"Miss Serena?"

"Ya?"

"I have with me Homura Takeru, a classmate of mine. He's wondering if you might have the photographs from the newspaper club. I remember you collected them as evidence for a higher budget and the, uh, need for more fireworks." Kiku's cheeks burn brighter than a candle by the end of her introduction, and she hastily bows forward.

Serena lifts her head with a huff and stares straight at Takeru, appearing as if she's gazing deep within his soul. She purses her lips at him, and then says, "What's the reason?"

"Personal matters," Takeru says.

Serena raises an eyebrow, and Takeru holds his breath, expecting her to turn him down—but then she rolls her eyes and gets up from her desk. On the opposite side of the bookshelves is a large filing cabinet, the kind that if there were an earthquake and someone was standing in front of it, the person would be flattened like a pancake. She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach inside the top shelf, but she returns with a folder full of pictures.

"There's more on my computer too, but these are the ones I printed."

Kiku whimpers.

"But there's not just evidence from the Naoki Self Destruction incident. Geez, a whole fuckton of stuff happened that night, like the Broken Sprinkler Incident and the Cat in the Locker Incident and the Radio Incident. Everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong that night. Isn't that right, Kiku?"

"Y-yeah," Kiku says, voice wobbly and weak. "It's a night that'll go down in the history books. I'm glad I didn't witness all of that ..."

Serena's lips pull back in a twisted smile. "But you were there for the Gym Penetration Incident, right?"

Takeru's cheeks burn. The—the  _ what? _

Kiku's own cheeks go cherry-red too. "That—that's what it was officially called? But it was the roof that broke, not—not anything to do with penetration—"

"Same diff," Serena says with a wave of her hand. "I don't think I have any photos of it, but maybe Kiku, you ..."

Kiku glances down at her hands. "Well, funny story ..."

"Spill it," Yuusaku mutters, crossing his arms tightly.

"Tell us all the dirty details," Ai adds, leaning across Yuusaku's shoulder to stare at Kiku, who stumbles back with a soft gasp. She rights herself though, smoothing her skirt along her legs, and then mumbles something to them.

"Why don't I show you, actually ..."

Takeru claps his hands together. "Lead the way." He spins on his heel to leave, but then stops just a few feet shy of the door and glances over his shoulder. "Uh, Kiku—I don't even know where we're going, all right?"

"You ... don't remember? Did you hit your head hard when you fell?"

"Fell?" Yuusaku echoes.

But Kiku doesn't answer them, hurrying forward to meet up with Takeru. Takeru breathes a sigh of relief as he heads out with Kiku, down more foreign hallways until they finally make it out the doors and into the courtyard. For a moment, it looks familiar once more, and then Kiku turns sharply towards one of the large, silver storage sheds that the school uses to hold its gym or festival equipment.

Cautiously, Takeru glances over his shoulder. Yuusaku hasn't said a word the entire trip down, his arms stiffly crossed in front of him. Ai prattles on and on about penetration as a dueling technique, but Yuusaku doesn't seem to hear him.

On his own shoulder, Flame sits and kicks his feet back and forth. When he spots Takeru staring at him, he gives a little laugh and says, "Kid, are you an angel who fell from heaven or something?"

"I don't even know," Takeru mutters. "I don't remember at all."

Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait for long. Kiku brings them to one of the storage sheds and pulls the great, metal door open. Inside, it's surprisingly bright even with the lights off—the source of light comes from a great, gaping hole in the ceiling at least six feet wide. There's nothing else inside the storage shed save for some rubble and wood scattered across the ground from the impact. Carefully, the three of them tiptoe inside the building and over to one of the walls.

"That's it?" Yuusaku says, raising his head to the large hole.

Ai whistles. "Good ol' penetration."

"Shut up. You're just being lewd now."

Takeru peers inside it too. There are boards that cover part of the hole, but overall it appears too big to be fixed by a couple planks of wood, and in definite need of a large-scale repair. He can't possibly imagine how it broke.

"This is what Serena was talking about," Kiku says, motioning to the hole in the ceiling. "The, uh, Roof Penetration Incident. No one knows how it happened, but both Serena and I think that the roof collapsed because it's so old; this school has been around for a while, and while the school itself has undergone several repairs, these old storage containers haven't had any work done to them. Considering how these sheds brave the elements all year round, it's really no surprise that it collapsed.

"We tried patching up the hole the best that we could, but in the meantime, until the school gets funding, we won't be able to store anything in here until the repairs are complete. We're fortunate though that this storage shed was empty though; we'd taken all the tents out of it for the festival just a few days prior."

"Lucky," Takeru says with a whistle.

"And ..." Kiku rubs her cheek with a finger. "I was really surprised when I found Takeru in here, right by the hole."

Yuusaku's eyes widen and he takes a step forward. "You  _ found  _ Takeru?"

"Yeah, on December 8, just after midnight ..."

* * *

_ She runs. She runs as far and as fast as she can, out of the courtyard and around the schoolyard. There are hundreds of students around here, and while she considers herself a rather reserved and quiet girl, right now she has no time for that and she pushes everyone aside to get free, get out of here, get away. She dips and slides between students holding their cameras up at Naoki who is still standing on the balcony screaming, "Take me, Playmaker!" _

How—how could he! My fireworks—

_ Once she's out of the thicket of the crowd, she runs across the field and to the storage sheds, a place where no one will come looking for her and where she can't hear the results of this terrible event. She slips into the shadows hanging over the storage sheds, and, once she's far enough away, she presses her back to the wall and lets out a deep, heavy breath. _

How could he?  _ she thinks. _ Naoki, that dummy! 

_ Then she hears something  _ crash, _ loud and clear and ringing through the courtyard. She nearly leaps out her skin, her heart jumping into her throat. She shakes her head left and right, but no one comes running across the field, no one moves. After a moment, Kiku steps away from the storage shed, ready to run once more—and pauses. Through a slit in one of the shed's doorways is a sliver of milky moonlight cutting through the darkness like a holy blade. _

Moonlight? _ she wonders. Cautiously, she creeps closer and peers around the doorway. To her surprise, the room isn't dark and gloomy, but instead glowing with a bright, ethereal light that captures the mess scattered everywhere. It looks like a meteor dropped into the shed, as there is a large, gaping hole in the ceiling through which moonlight drips down onto the head of— _

_ Wait. _

_ Kiku blinks. Lying amongst the rubble from the broken ceiling is a boy with white hair dashed with red. His glasses are askew on his nose, and for a second his eyes are closed. Then they snap open and he raises a shaky hand. Kiku sees him wince and groan. _

_ She steps out from behind the door and wave shyly at him. "Hey there." _

* * *

"—and that's how it all went down. Turns out the rubble was pretty soft and squishy, and someone left a couple tarps there too—and so Takeru here slacked off on his responsibilities and went and took a nap. I'm not sure how he slept through Naoki's fireworks, and somehow didn't get crushed by the rubble, but ..." Kiku twirls a lock of blue hair around her finger. "Isn't it great that no one was physically harmed that night?"

Takeru nods his head emphatically and the grins at Yuusaku. "See, an alibi."

Yuusaku frowns though, and the expression cuts across his otherwise neutral face. "She  _ found  _ you in a broken shed? Magically unharmed?"

"Makes sense to me," Takeru says. "Show him the picture, Kiku."

Kiku nods and pulls out her duel disk. "Sorry, I forgot that while I didn't take any pictures of the Naoki Incident on my phone, I did have some shots from that night, like ... this one." She taps it twice and it appears as a hologram in the sky, visible for all of them. It's a clear picture of Takeru pointing up at the hole in the ceiling, moonlight on his pale skin.

"Dreamy, huh?" Ai says.

Flame chuckles. "Dreamer boy, more like it."

Takeru rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Yuusaku, look at the timestamp though." He taps it with his fingers. "00:30 on December 08. There's no way that if I was sleeping in the storage shed on the eighth that I could have murdered someone on the seventh—"

"Wait, murdered—"

"—because there's no chance I could have been back at the school for 00:30 so Kiku could take my picture; it takes an hour by train to get from the city to the school, and that's not even counting travel time to and from the train station. So I'm cleared of all suspicions, aren't I, Yuusaku?"

Takeru smiles brightly at Yuusaku. On his shoulder, Flame smirks and adds, "Looks like Soulburner is safe."

With a sigh, Ai taps Yuusaku on the neck. "Cheer up, Playmaker. You'll find another murderer to chase after soon enough."

Yuusaku just seethes silently, meeting no one's gaze and staring down at the floor. He doesn't say a word to any of them, even when Kiku starts asking why they're talking about murderers. Takeru feels a bit sorry for him—is Yuusaku going to hang around now, or will he head back to the city to look for another lead? Maybe he can team up with SOL Technologies or the Knights of Hanoi or anyone else who's looking for the Colourless Duel King. But ... Takeru breathes a sigh of relief. He's cleared of all suspicions now.

"Want me to send the photo to you?" Kiku asks. "Regardless of the reason, it's a nice shot ..."

"Sure," Takeru says. "Send to it to my duel disk." A pause. "Wait ... I forgot it in my room."

Kiku chuckles. "You're forgetful, aren't you, Takeru? Here, I'll send it to you and you can have the photo on file for whenever you need. Now ..." She glances down at her duel disk once more. "We have to be back in class, so I'll see you there, all right?" She turns on her heel with one last smile and heads out the door. Takeru watches her go, but as soon as she disappears from view, he lets out a whoop of joy and turns around to face Yuusaku.

"Cleared of all charges, aren't I?"

"Don't act smug."

"I'm celebrating. Come on, let's head back to my room. I have leftovers."

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. "But classes—"

"Can wait," Takeru finishes. "Besides, I only go to class to get a good meal. No one will miss me anyways." And then he turns of his heel too and heads out the doors into the warm sunlight. He doesn't look over his heel to see if Yuusaku is following him—but then again, he doesn't need to as Yuusaku follows him pace for pace across the courtyard and back to his dorm room.

As it's the middle of the day and everyone is in class, the pathway to the dorm buildings is quiet and empty, with only a handful of birds and squirrels wandering along on the grass or picking at the cobblestone rocks. Normally, he'd keep his head down and pretend he's a shadow blending into the cracks of the world, but today Takeru keeps his head up and smiles widely.

He's free.

Behind him, Yuusaku trudges along with Ai prattling on his shoulder. From time to time, he mumbles something under his breath, but the words are so soft that Takeru never hears them. When they get to the dorm building, they take the elevator up to Takeru's room. Yuusaku hovers awkwardly by the doorway, eyeing up the living space.

"You coming?" Takeru says. "I'm going to have many more meals, after all."

Yuusaku dips his head in a bow and heads inside. At once, Ai leaps off and dashes to the counter; Flame follows him, and the two of them use their strength to open the little fridge under the counter which now has several small containers of side dishes, and a generous amount of cooked white rice. They bring them to the little table in the room, and while Yuusaku sets up the dishes, Takeru undoes the buttons on his jacket and eases it off his shoulders.

"There are still some mysteries unsolved, you know." Yuusaku raises his head a bit. "About you and those ignises."

"I'm an open book," Ai says with a huff.

Flame chuckles. "How about we stick some wires in you then and see what you're made of?"

The two ignises burst out laughing, but neither Takeru nor Yuusaku join them. In fact, Yuusaku's eyebrows only furrow lower over his eyes. He keeps staring at Takeru too, and Takeru feels his stomach begin to churn.

"Maybe you're too suspicious," he says with a soft laugh. "Sure, there are mysteries to be solved, but that doesn't mean I'm entangled with them. This SOL Tech and Hanoi stuff has nothing to do with me, a student at Den City High. Now that I have my alibi, I can bring it to SOL Tech too and tell them to lay off on stalking and charging me."

"Something doesn't add up though ..." Yuusaku murmurs.

"That's not my problem" Takeru says. "Now ..." He glances down at the jacket slung around his arm. "Need to put this away, and lemme search for my duel disk ... should be around here somewhere ..." He spins on his heel and heads to his armoire, made of sturdy oak and that stands across from his bed. He pulls open the doors and grabs a hanger to hang up his jacket. Then he peeks under the hanging clothes, looking to see if he'd lucked it away in the back of the armoire.

A bit of sunlight creeps into the armoire, and in his hands he sees bloody clothing—a shirt, in fact, the one he would normally wear to school under his jacket. The front of it is splattered red, and the colour is too dark and coppery to be paint.

"Have you found it?" Yuusaku asks.

Takeru slams the armoire doors closed. He laughs nervously, and rubs his head. Now Yuusaku is staring straight at him, no doubt wondering what has spooked him. He can't really say, so Takeru clambers up onto his bed and rifles under his pillows to hide his shaking hands. Naturally, he comes up empty-handed.

"Huh, maybe I lost it somewhere else on campus …”

Yuusaku pinches his lips together. "Remember you are supposed to wear that on you at all times. If I find out that you've been sneaking off campus without being recorded, then I'll assume you're suspicious of something  _ else." _

Takeru brushes him off with another laugh. "Yeah, yeah, you'll tattle-tale on me. Come on, let's forget about it and eat."

With a dip of his head, Yuusaku settles down on the floor and pushes himself up to the table. Takeru sits next to him, but he no longer feels hungry or in the mood for celebrating. He forces himself to eat a couple bites, but they all slip and slide down his throat like oil, and make his belly cramp. From time to time, Yuusaku glances over at him, but Takeru waves him off. His mind keeps drifting to the bloody shirt in his armoire though.

_ When did I ever get in a fight? _


	9. Destination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the length of this chapter. i had to choose between two short chapters (and much shorter than previous chapters) or one long chapter, and i chose the latter because it felt right.   
> also a big thank you for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks—i truly appreciate it! <33

"Where's the source of that unauthorised broadcast?" Vyra slams her hands down on the table, and the resulting echo stretches all around the Knights of Hanoi headquarters, or Ryouken's house. It functions as both. In the living room, there are computers everywhere, each screen displaying a different broadcasting station or news article. Spectre and Vyra have been typing nervously away at it, but now Vyra's glaring at him as if it's somehow his fault that SOL Technologies made an unauthorised broadcast looking for the Colourless Duel King."

"Spectre—”

"I dunno," Spectre says with a shrug.

"Then find it."

Spectre stretches over his computer chair, face splitting in a wide grin. "But Miss Vyra, I do know that that cafe you frequent, which is in fact SOL Technologies' headquarters, might have better information—"

"Watch it." Vyra swings her arm around, and from her hands appears a long, curved blade. It's red and silver, and there's a light fragrance around it that Spectre knows must be some kind of poison or viral infection that she's conjured to give her blade a deadly edge.

But Spectre pushes it aside with the tip of his finger, still smiling. "I'm just  _ saying,"  _ he says, "that if you want the best of the best, you might as well go right to the source. I won't even tell Revolver, though it's not like he doesn't already know you're banging the hotdog—"

_ Crash! _

"Zip it!" Vyra leans across the desk, her breath coming in quiet, albeit heavy, pants. 'Just zip it, Spectre."

"Just saying."

Not even a minute later, he hears her sit back down in her chair and resume typing. Spectre swings himself back and forth in his seat, nearly twirling with glee. Everyone's been so uptight here lately that it's driven him mad. It's no surprise considering everything that has happened, but then again it doesn't do anyone any good to be so touchy and whiny. Of course SOL Technologies would hack into Link Vrains' computer systems and broadcast a search for the Colourless Duel King—they think they own Link Vrains in the first place!

Stretching in his seat, Spectre brings his feet up to the table. He doesn't like being at his computer all day: it's boring and tedious, and he finds more information going to the source—which is why he recommended it to Vyra before she blew up at him.

"Spectre, your  _ work." _

"I am working," he quips.

"Work harder then."

Spectre twists around. Vyra looks to be growing new gray hairs every minute, and there are deep, purple bags under her eyes. No doubt she pulled an all-nighter reviewing the footage of the Colourless Duel King shooting Bessho Ema, looking for any clue that might lead them to the Duel King's location. Of course, that probably only made her sicker. Spectre's watched the video a half-dozen times and he smiles at the sight of the blood splattering on the lens like a cheesy thriller film. The footage looks far too over-the-top, perhaps even staged.

"I received a report back from the police," she says, interrupting his train of thoughts. "They've been looking over the footage too, and apparently the gun that was used to murder Bessho was smuggled in by a multinational mafia group."

Spectre turns all the way around to face her now, folding his hands on her desk.

Vyra doesn't comment on it. "According to the report, just before the incident there was a truck that was robbed of its weapons and ammunition—not just guns and bullets, but other explosives and harmful substances. Apparently, the mafia has been searching for a white-haired criminal too."

"So you're thinking we should team up with the mafia?" Spectre laughs. "They'll put so many holes in us we'll look like Swiss cheese."

"We can't," Vyra says simply. "That mafia gang was annihilated."

Spectre keeps on laughing though.

"By SOL Technologies."

"You mean by Miss Blue Angel?" Spectre drags his fingers across Vyra's desk and turns her monitor screen so that he can see it, even though the same image is projected onto the wall ahead of them. Spectre wants to see Vyra's scared expression too.

The brunt of the police report are notes and legal jargon, and it's all been meticulously filled out like this is just another piece of paper with important writing on it. However, Spectre makes out several words about SOL Technologies and their actions against the mafia, namely that Aoi was in fact the one that killed them and that at the scene of the crime no weapons or ammunition were found.

"It's not like SOL Technologies to get quite so violent," Vyra murmurs.

Spectre merely rolls his shoulders. "When given the right incentive, those corporate hounds will do anything, especially Blue Angel, so desperate for praise and attention. "

"Well they're definitely getting attention now ..."

She pulls up another screen, this time a full-screen photo of the advertisement made to all of Link Vrains by SOL Technologies. It features the white-haired murderer, the Colourless uel King, on the front, along with a hefty reward at the bottom and a contact number to Cafe Nagi. Spectre was wandering around town eating kale chips when he saw the advertisement on the Jumbotron.

"It's been at least six hours since they advertised for information, and to my knowledge—"

"You mean your stalking and spying skills."

"My  _ knowledge,"  _ Vyra corrects. "As far as I know, their offer has yet to bear any fruit. No one has come forth with any information, even minor assumptions. I've already notified the police that the advertisement was from SOL Technologies—"

"Not that you couldn't already tell that from the footage, just saying."

She purses his lips together. "Regardless, it's as much our priority as it is SOL Technologies' to find the murderer of Bessho Ema. If we want Link Vrains to be a peaceful dueling hub, then we need to find whoever launched an attack on the Blues and bring them to justice."

Spectre rubs his hands together. He loves it when Vyra pretends she's the best second-in-command the Hanois have and she barks out orders like he'll listen to them dutifully. As he swings around on his chair, he sees a message pop up on the screens overhead, and on Vyra's computer that is turned to face him. He recognises the letterhead right away: it's from the president of Link Vrains—the real deal, not Zaizen Akira who thinks he's in charge too.

"There it is," Vyra says, pressing her fingers to the screen. "Spectre, listen up. As of this moment, the City Scan protocol is in effect. All information, digital or otherwise, is accessible to us so long as it pertains to our investigation."

Rubbing his hands together, Spectre slows his spinning. This is the best news he's heard all day. While it's fun and all to play investigator on the Dark Web, there's only so much they can do from the safety of their base. Now that the City Scan is in place, they have free access to any and all online storage systems from any organisation, giving them unlimited information to hidden and secret footage.

"Spectre." Vyra leans forward over the desk, eyes narrowed into thin slits. "I will be investigating SOL Technologies' data networks as well as several large corporations within the city. I want you to look into the systems at large."

"Do my thing?" Spectre says with a laugh.

"Yes ... do your thing."

Spectre cracks his fingers, then his knuckles, and finally his wrists, each one making a sharp noise in the otherwise silent room. His speciality is networking: like a tree, he can access all manner of data reserves and sort through them as easily as if he were organising blocks into shapes or colours. It's all child's play for him, so as he boots up the system, his hands move on their own accord, typing in complex algorithms and sparsing through the layers of coding.

In his opinion, this almost seems like too much work for one brat. He's not too bothered by Ema's death, as it doesn't necessarily affect him or his workload; there's a never-ending supply of labour for the Knights of Hanoi. Besides, they're a terrorist organisation—shouldn't they be finding ways to side up with whoever killed Ema instead of playing heroes and buddying up with the Blues. It's not as if Akira will even thank them for their efforts.

Over his shoulder, Spectre hears Vyra tapping away on her computer. She's the most dutiful of them. He hasn't heard from Ryouken in a while though; he's less inclined to do work and more inclined to play around at his desk or hang out with Akira in the cellars. If he's worried about anything, it's Akira dropping his damn Dragon Sword on the city. From time to time, Spectre sees its glow reflected in the windows, and he swallows a shiver. It's been a while since a King dropped their sword, but Spectre, a child back then, still remembers feeling the ground give up under him and a million crying voices as everything—people, plants, animals—died from the explosion.

With a sigh, Spectre opens up a new browser and types into it: "Virus: Mother Tree." It's a fancy program he and Vyra built together, and thus named after both of them. It's risky technology though: while it's in use, all other computer systems function at a sub-optimal level, including the firewall to their own computers. If anyone wanted to hack into their computers, they would have an extreme advantage. Spectre doesn't like to use the program all that much, yet it's the sharpest tool for tracking down important pieces of information.

"Spectre."

"I am  _ working,"  _ he snaps back, and opens the program. His screen blips to black, and then bursts red and green, twisting together as the program loads. It immediately begins to parse through websites, scanning all manners of documents and files. The tracker updates so rapidly that Spectre can't even keep track of all the places it's looking, but while he watches the program load, he pulls up another article that he left open on his desktop of SOL Technologies' Zaizen Aoi swinging her blue staff around to beat up another gang.

"SOL Technologies' members on rampage: Where is their Duel King?" the article reads, and though Spectre hasn't even read the article, he knows that the Blues must be getting frantic trying to bring Akira back, even though Akira walked willingly to the other side.

_ Pathetic,  _ Spectre thinks. As far as he's aware, SOL Technologies wants to solve matters without their greatest weapon, and find the murderer of Bessho Ema while their ill Duel King is resting. It's as stupid as it sounds: they need Akira around to provide them strength, though perhaps his disappearance might lessen their all-around stupidity and recklessness.

A mark on his neck begins to itch—his old allegiance to the Blues, a mark that was burnt into him upon his initiation. For some reason Akira never let go of him, perhaps hoping that maybe he'd return. Spectre hasn't even put a single  _ toe  _ back in Cafe Nagi.

"Checking up on your old friends?"

He doesn't leap out of his seat, but Ryouken's voice startles Spectre out of his thoughts, and though he smiles up at his Duel King, it's more forced than it normally is.

"Shouldn't you be doing work, Revolver?"

"Shouldn't you?" Ryouken says with a shrug. "I can see your computer screen projected on the wall over there—you've been staring at the same webpage for ten minutes. And." Ryouken pauses, tucking his hands into his pockets. "As far as I'm aware of, you're supposed to be looking into the Colourless Duel King, not what the Blues are fooling around with."

"I am."

"Then"—Ryouken leans down towards the screen, peering over Spectre's shoulder—"how is the investigation going?"

"Smoothly." Spectre taps his finger to the screen. "Care to hear my prattle?"

"Make it quick."

"Well ..." Spectre drawls out the words. "You see here, I've searched through nearly three-quarters of the files in the city, both public and private. This system is very thorough. And what makes it so great, if you don't know, is that not only does it show every point in Link Vrains where information has been acquired, but also places where there is an  _ absence  _ of information."

"Like blank land?"

Spectre shakes his head. "No, that would still have data in it: coding for the terrain, sightings of animals, et cetera, et cetera. No, the absence of information means someone's security is so good that not even a super-computer such as the Mother Tree—"

_ "Virus: Mother Tree,"  _ Vyra quips.

"—can break through it. And so far I've only come across one such place—not the government, not SOL Technologies, but a fucking  _ school." _

Ryouken raises an eyebrow. "A school?"

"Yeah, Den City High. They're out in the middle of the ocean, far away from civilisation. The school has such tight security that students even have to sign in and out to get on the campus. It's unreal how high-tech their system is, as if those children are prisoners or something. But anyways ..." He drums his fingers on the desk, smiling widening. "Wouldn't it be a swell idea to hide out on that lonely island and don the disguise of a student?"

Ryouken raises an eyebrow. "You mean the Colourless Duel King?"

"Exactly."

* * *

Takeru sighs under his breath and glances around. He's back at school, and it should just feel like a typical afternoon after classes. However, he can't get the nagging thought out of his head. There was a bloody shirt in his closet. Not a shirt stained with paint, not a shirt with spaghetti sauce smeared on it, but a shirt with  _ blood!  _ He doesn't even want to imagine where the blood came from, or how the garment made it into his room.

And yet, the more Takeru thinks about it, the more he realises he does know something. After all, Yuusaku has been calling him a murderer for a couple days now, and such a person would wear blood clothes? So was he set up then? Whatever the case, Takeru knows that he can't let Yuusaku find it. He hasn't been able to burn it or hide it elsewhere, so he's worn the same uniform for two days now, too scared to open the armoire again.

Fortunately, Yuusaku hasn't paid him much attention. He's hung around, convinced that something might still happen, but he no longer calls Takeru a murderer or stalks him everywhere. It feels nice to have no one hovering over his shoulder, at least metaphorically; physically, Flame sits on his shoulder, swinging his legs back and forth.

"You never do any work, do you?"

"I do!" Takeru retorts, cheeks reddening. "I'm helping with the festival right now."

"Sure you're not going to sleep on the job again?"

This time, Takeru doesn't answer. He heads out to the courtyard where Kiku is issuing orders for everyone from atop a wooden crate. All around her are little clusters of students setting up even more tents, and further down the field are teams setting up tables and bringing over large containers filled with prizes and non-perishable snacks.

He sees Yuusaku among those crowds, helping set up the small grills and attaching them to propane tanks. He looks ... knowledgeable in that. Students are gathered around him watching him attach pipes and push the tanks under the tables, and then spread plaid tablecloths over the table to set food upon. As Takeru approaches he hears someone say, "Wow, Yuusaku, you could make a hobby out of this?"

Yuusaku tilts his head to the side. "Out of setting up grills?"

"Nah," the student says, "like cooking food. You know those food trucks in the city? Yeah, work for one of those! I bet you know how to cook."

Ai leaps down from Yuusaku's shoulder and dashes across the tabletop. "When all this mess is sorted out, Yuusaku, you should be a weenie cooker."

"A chef?"

"Nah, you're not  _ that  _ good.”

Yuusaku swipes at Ai, but the little ignis darts to the side and then dashes to the end of the table. When he sees Takeru, he waves his arms back and forth and calls out, "Save me!" just as Yuusaku makes another swipe for him. Yuusaku stops though when he sees Takeru too, and he stands upright and gives a little, awkward cough.

"Hard at work?" Takeru says.

"Hardly."

"Well ..." Takeru shrugs. "Thanks for the help anyway. Kiku wants this festival to be a huge success, and while our school has all hands on deck, one more pair will surely help us out."

In a way, Takeru even feels a bit jealous. His classmates rarely ask him for help unless he's standing right in front of them, but Yuusaku—and by extension Ai—have been around campus all day helping set up grills or carrying boxes and tanks. Despite how awkward he appears, he fits right in. Takeru though ... he inches closer to the shadows, anxious about even appearing awkward. Surely if he disappeared for a couple hours no one would remember him ever leaving.

"Will you be staying for the festival?" Takeru asks Yuusaku.

"Depends."

"On?"

"The situation." Yuusaku shoves his hands into his pocket and glances away. "I will be here for as long as you are a suspect in this investigation. When your innocence is fully proven, then I will leave."

"I see ..."

"Did you find your duel disk?"

Takeru brings a hand first to his wrist, and then to his pocket. With an abashed smile, he shakes his head. "Nah, it's still missing. I swear I checked every nook and cranny of my room, but maybe it's not even there ... like I could have left it in the cafeteria one day, or at my grandparents' house."

Yuusaku's eyes frown. "Your  _ grandparents ..." _

"Haha yeah, maybe."

But before Yuusaku can even dare pull out Decode Talker, Kiku appears before them,swinging her megaphone round and round in her hand. "Oh, did you visit your grandparents recently, Takeru? If they live nearby, I can send you on another errand and you can stop by their place at the same time."

"I guess, I mean—"

Kiku cuts him off by spinning around and bellowing into the megaphone, "Everyone, Takeru is doing a snack run. What would you like?"

As if that were the magic word to rouse everyone's spirits, suddenly a cacophony of voices spark from the courtyard. Kiku grabs a pen and paper and begins eagerly writing down the ideas, though Takeru has no idea how she can even hear them over the hundreds of voices shouting all at once. She keeps writing though, and eventually she brings the megaphone back up to her lips and bellows, "Got it!"

The noise disappears like the pop of a balloon.

Kiku turns around and folds the little piece of paper in half, and then presents it to him as if it were a top-secret document. "I'm sending you on a mission, Takeru. Please be safe and do your best."

He chuckles nervously. The last time he ran an errand for her, he definitely needed that blessing. Now that he thinks about it though, a dark feeling settles in his stomach. If he goes back to the city, will SOL Technologies find him and hunt him down? And what'll happen when they do? The girl he saw last time certainly seemed keen on bashing his head in, and the other guy had  _ tongs!  _ How can those be weapons? 

With shaking hands, he takes the paper and tucks it into his pocket. "Got it, Kiku."

"I'll go along too."

Kiku turns to the side. "Yuusaku? But really—"

"We'll split up to make it quicker," he says. On his shoulder, both Ai and Flame cheer about the snacks they're going to pick, and the various other shops they might visit, the likes of which have Yuusaku, Takeru, and Kiku turning pink around the ears. However, Kiku smiles warmly at the suggestion.

"You're right, two is always better than one. Use the buddy system, right?"

Yuusaku nods stiffly and then spins on his heel. Takeru rushes into a bow, and then dashes off after Yuusaku. In the distance, he hears several voices calling out, not to Yuusaku, but to  _ him:  _ "We'll be waiting for you!" and "For the snacks, that is!" and "Make sure you buy the salt and vinegar kind!" Takeru chuckles under his breath as he hurries forward, yet he notes the light, albeit aching, feeling in his heart.

When he hurries on, he feels even further away from them than it seems, and his stomach begins to twist in knots.

Up ahead, Yuusaku marches forward. He doesn't look over his shoulder, but when they're at last out of earshot and walking side by side down the path out to the school, Yuusaku growls, "And you thought I was going to let you go by yourself? Hah."

"I—I wasn't," Takeru says, throwing up his hands. "I'm even glad you're coming with me—"

"Oh boy, are you blushing?" Ai says, drawling the words out. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "This sounds like the sappy, gross shit couples—"

"Shut up," Yuusaku says, clapping his hand over Ai who slides out of the way and hurries over to his other shoulder where he takes up his new spot. Flame hops over to Takeru's own shoulder where he begins creating small flickers of flame between his palms.

"What are you doing there ...?" Takeru says.

"Wondering how much flame I'd need to set this courtyard on fire."

_ "Well then!"  _ Takeru hurries himself forward and into the checkpoint, where he waves to the officer monitoring the comings and goings of students. The officer rolls his eyes but waves him through. Yuusaku follows afterwards, tapping his duel disk to a little panel that swings the gate doors open. He gives Takeru a pointed look as he passes by.

"I know, I know."

When they get out to the docks though and the platform to the train, Yuusaku stops though and holds out his hand. From his wrist appears first a beam and then his D-Board, slim and sleek as before.

Takeru's stomach sinks further to the ground. "You know, there's a perfectly-functioning train just over there that's far safer—"

"Get on."

"Right."

Carefully, Takeru steps onto the board. He tries to remain standing like Yuusaku, but the moment the board lifts up into the air, his legs turn to jelly and he quickly lowers himself to his bottom. Yuusaku doesn't comment on it, driving the board up and towards the clouds, and out across the water. The wind whips at their cheeks and tugs at their hair. Ai and Flame cling onto their jacket lapels.

Once Yuusaku gets them out into the middle of the ocean though, the D-Board seems to slow down a bit, just enough that Takeru can't feel the wind trying to pull his skin off. Yuusaku turns around to face him, and juts his chin out.

"Stand up."

"I'm going to fall ..." Takeru says.

"You won't. The bottom of this board has a gripping system installed that helps with balance. Now stand."

Swallowing thickly, Takeru pushes himself first onto all fours, and then slowly up to full height. He feels every dip and twist of the board, and more than once he tries to lower himself back down to the ground. How can Yuusaku even stand straight? His balance feels completely off-kilter, and though there's apparently a gripping system, Takeru sure can't feel anything under his feet but the board's slippery surface. He gets himself up to full height though, arms spread out on either side of him. Then he glares at Yuusaku.

"There."

"Spread your legs a bit."

"I know where this is going ~" Ai sing-songs.

"You're going to fall ~" Flame adds.

"Shut up," Yuusaku says to the ignises. "Spread your legs for balance."

It's then Takeru notices Yuusaku's posture: he's not standing straight with his legs together, but instead he's bent forward a bit, lowering his centre of gravity, and his legs are braced shoulder-width apart to distribute his weight. It's the sort of pose he's seen in that wrestling show on TV. Takeru tries to mimic it the best that he can, wiggling his feet to the side. He feels the effects immediately: no longer does the board seem ready to flip out from under him, but instead there's a solid weight beneath him, as if he were standing on cement.

"You look like you're going to be sick," Flame says.

"Quiet," Takeru says. He spreads his legs just a bit more, and then stops. He doesn't even have to hold his arms out in front of him—he's perfectly balanced as is.

"I'm going to drive now. Do  _ not  _ hold onto me."

The board gives a little jump, but this time Takeru doesn't feel the ground give out from under him. As the board moves forward, slowly at first and then picking up speed, his body adjusts to the wind. He crouches whenever it seems too strong, and he braces his legs as Yuusaku begins to weave it from side to side. It helps to watch Yuusaku's own body language: when he leans, Takeru leans; when he crouches, Takeru crouches.

_ It's like a dance,  _ he thinks.  _ Being in synchronicity with someone else. _

Though neither of them say a word on the trip across, for the first time Takeru feels togetherness—a feeling he can't put a name to, but that he  _ feels  _ deep within his heart. He feels Yuusaku's body turn into the curves with him; he feels Ai and Flame as they scamper along their shoulders or slide down to the floor of the board to peer over the edge and down into the water. Takeru barely recognises the reflection he sees down there. Is that truly him?

When they finally reach the other side, his legs give out from under him and he topples forward onto the cement. The energy stays in his body though, the exhilarating feeling of coasting through the air. He can still taste the salt on his tongue and feel how the wind has coiled his hair. Glancing over his shoulder, Yuusaku packs up the board with the click of a button and brushes his bangs to the side.

"Thanks."

Yuusaku pauses. "What?"

"Thanks," Takeru repeats, "for showing me how to ride."

"It's nothing."

"Well ..." Takeru twists his hands together. "It felt like something, so ... thanks."

Yuusaku spins on his heel and marches down into the city. Takeru chuckles to himself and, though his legs still feel shaky, he pushes himself to his feet and hurries off after Yuusaku, calling out, "Hey, wait up! I have the list, you know? How are you going to shop if you don't know what we're supposed to buy?"


	10. obeDience

"Who are they?"

Spectre holds his head high but keeps his mouth quiet as he taps his duel disk to the reader at Den City High. It pings softly at him, and the doors swing outwards to let him enter. Behind him trails Vyra, trying to remain in line with him but failing at keeping an eye on him. He can hear her tutting to herself under her breath, but Spectre ignores her. Besides, he's much more interested in this school. It's larger than any building in the city, and would span at least three blocks for just the school itself, not including the courtyard and the storage sheds and the dorm rooms. And yet it all seems to fit on this island ... somehow.

Spectre gazes around and whistles lowly. He went to a smaller, inner city school, not this kind of lofty private school. The students here all come from rich, affluent families with connections; certainly not the kind of place he would have ever wound up in. However, unlike the normally stuffy feeling of private school, this building looks surprisingly open and welcoming. Sure, there's security, but past that is an open, sprawling courtyard with soft, green grass. In the distance, trees border what he assumes are the perimeters of the school.

Then there's the main building standing boldly in the centre. Its tall walls stretch up to the heavens, adorned with shimmering windows at least three floors tall. Even from this distance, he can see students milling around indoors. Yet the majority of them appear to be out in the courtyard setting up tents and tables.

"Are they having a party?"

"We don't have time—"

"I'm just asking," Spectre says, drawling the words out. "Besides, shouldn't you buddy up with the principal before we tell him we're taking control of his school's security system and thoroughly researching him, his faculty, and his students. Isn't that how it's done?"

"When have you ever thought about someone besides yourself?"

Spectre's grin slides across his pale cheeks. "I never said I had. That's a job for you."

Vyra huffs and stalks forward. Together, they head into the main building, nearly running into a ... frog? The creature squawks at them, a noise that sends Vyra's eyebrows shooting into her hairline.

Spectre laughs outright. "Does this school hire clowns too?"

Vyra jabs him roughly in the side with her elbow, and Spectre crunches forward, still laughing. Vyra bows too, and loud enough to drown out some of his laughter, she says, "Sorry, Principal Yamamoto. We didn't expect you to greet us here."

Spectre nearly guffaws once more. This is the principal? This creepy frog? It's even a flying frog too, held up by a pigeon of all creatures! And now that he can get a good sight of both of them, Spectre realises they're androids. Is someone flying this creature around or something? Is it remote-controlled?

The frog—Mr. Yamamoto—speaks in a high-pitched and grating voice: "Yes, please follow me." And he flies off, carried by the pigeon. They travel down several long hallways, occasionally passing by students who don't even bat their eyes at the sight of the frog and pigeon. Eventually, they all find themselves in a quaint, albeit boring, office, made of nothing but dark wood with bookcases on one side.

Spectre clicks his teeth. Would it kill to have some plants in here, or even open the blinds? This place looks like a hole in the ground.

Vyra and Spectre take their seats in front of the desk. Spectre leans forward at once, steepling his hands under his chin. Vyra remains further back, and he feels her eyes boring into the back of his neck, praying for him not to do anything stupid.

"You're from the Knights of Hanoi, correct?"

"Correct."

The two creatures seem to shrink back into their seat. They still stand together, with the pigeon on top of the frog's head, and they shake like leaves in the wind. Are they going to malfunction, Spectre wonders. Should he be worried about them spontaneously combusting or leaking oil everywhere? He doesn't deal with robots, especially not ones currently posing as the principal of a private school.

"What b-business do you have with us?" the pigeon says. 

"This." Vyra hands over a folder of files—the official report from the police, fully forged and all. Thankfully, Yamamoto looks too scared to even  _ dare  _ question it, his wide eyes unblinkinh. He leafs through the papers, eyes anxiously darting over the covers. No doubt he can't read a thing about it with all his quivering, but after a minute he sets them down.

"A-and?"

"We're asking for access to your school's internet registry and the duel disks of all your enrolled students, both current and previous." When Yamamoto opens his mouth once more, Vyra cuts him off: "We're looking for a dangerous criminal, sir. Are you aware of the Colourless Duel King who murdered Bessho Ema on December 7?"

Yamamoto nods his head up and down so quickly that the poor pigeon nearly falls out.

Spectre stifles a chuckle. How can these two idiots be principals? They can hardly keep eye contact with Vyra, and she's the least menacing of the Hanois.

"B-but ..." The pigeon tucks his head down. "Under our school's p-policy, students are entitled to pri—privacy—"

Quick as a whip, Vyra extracts yet another document—the City Scan protocol—and hands it over to Yamamoto. "I'm sure you're familiar with this document. Under its measures, the Hanois are entitled to any and all information pertaining to the case until the culprit has been caught and brought to justice. Thus, I believe we'll be taking a look into  _ all  _ of your personal files, including your own—"

"Wait, you really—"

Spectre sighs and stands up, stretching his arms over his head. Vyra eyes him up, but Spectre shakes his head. "Going to get some air."

Once he's out of the room, he mumbles, "Away from that stupidity, that is." Sure, Vyra will eventually get the principal to agree, but Spectre's not about to hang around for an hour listen to the two of them discuss finer details as if there's anything to talk about. The principal must know they're a terrorist organisation. Even with the guise of "we're helping Link Vrains," he'd been inclined to deny them.

So Spectre heads down the hallway and to where he can see several students gathered together in a small cluster, chatting amongst themselves. One of them raises their head when they see him, no doubt recognising his pristine, white uniform and the wooden sword hanging from his hip.

_ Bingo. _

Spectre keeps his head down, but at he passes them he lets his ankle roll a bit too much, and he bumps into one of them.  They gives a faint gasp and quickly mutter an apology despite it not being their fault. Spectre keeps his head down though and continues walking, until he rounds the corner and can flick the little duel disk up and down in his palm.

_ They really should wear them tighter. _

He leans up against the wall and pulls out his own duel disk. It's been modified slightly, and on the underside of it is a retractable cord that once was used before duel disks had data and BlueTooth and all the other bells and whistles. Spectre hooks up the two duel disks and begins the transfer. The last thing he wants is for Den City High to see his name pop up when the go searching for who hacked into the system, but they'll be thoroughly stumped when the only name the see is whoever this kid is.

"Hey, what are you doing hiding back there? You don't even have a uniform on—"

Spectre startles, for a moment thinking his cover has been blown. However, he's the only one in this wing of the school. It's then he realises the noise is coming outside from the courtyard.

"Hey, answer me! How'd you get on school property?"

He sinks his teeth into his lip. Surely that wouldn't be Vyra—she should still be in her useless meeting with the principal. They didn't take anyone else on this mission either, so if there's someone on campus not wearing a uniform ...

He hurries to the windows and peers down below. Sure enough, it's not a student in the typical Den City High garb, but a brown-haired girl in a striking. blue dress. She looks like an idol, only her hair is drab and the outfit even looks a bit too big on her. She seems defensive too, backing away from the students with her wand braced across her chest.

_ What's Aoi doing here?  _ Spectre wonders. Aoi sometimes goes on her own missions, but she's normally so loud and boisterous that he can hear her a mile away. Something has her spooked today though, and she pulls away from the student interrogating her and presses her back to the wall. She fumbles with her duel disk, and popping up from the holographic screen is a shot of a white-haired man with a gun.

_ Oh ho, so she's looking for the murderer too. _

Spectre cradles his head in his hands. He's only ever seen Ai beat the living shit out of people, so watching her act how she used to be—demure and silent—seems like a treat. After all, being a dueling idol is just a facade for her, a mask she wears to protect herself. She's easily shattered and startled, and no doubt her brother's capture has left her equally frazzled and short on options.

"I'm looking for him," Aoi says, pointing at the screen. "Please—"

"How'd you even get on this island if you aren't a student? Did you sneak on? Did you steal someone's duel disk?" The student keeps interrogating her. He's tall and broad, and he towers over her.

Spectre laughs. This should be a treat.

Aoi shakes her head at the guy and lifts her duel disk a bit higher, bringing the image up to the man's height. "I just want to know—"

"I'll call the principal on you if you don't get out of here, lady."

Aoi shakes her head. "Please, no, please ..." And at that moment she tilts her head and spots him. All at once her barriers go right up, and her face twists into an ugly grimace, peeling away her sallow cheeks and droopy eyes. She no longer seems to care about the man approaching her, or about his threat.

"You."

Spectre waves from the window. "A~o~i," he singsongs. "How's it going?"

_ "You!"  _ Aoi launches herself up into the sky, flying straight towards him. Spectre parries.He flyz out of window and towards a tall tree growing along the wall, catching himself in its tall, draping branches and hurries along to slide down its base. Aoi crashes behind him, her breath hot and heavy.

"What are you doing here?" she hisses.

"I should ask you the same thing," Spectre says. He slides the rest of the way down the branch and lands on the grass below. The student who'd been interrogating Aoi is long gone; in fact, there's not a single person in sight now. They're on the opposite side of the courtyard, away from all the students who were setting up for the festival.

"I see you're hard at work as always? Were you trying to play the young, innocent girl role in the hopes that guy would tell you something?"

Aoi turns her head to the side and huffs. "No."

"Pretty pathetic."

The words are like bullets into Aoi's heart, and Spectre relishes seeing the damage they cause. She stumbles back as if burned, and brings a hand to her chest. Without her blue hair or her fancy stage makeup, she looks far too weak and helpless, a lonely angel looking for someone to take them under their wing.

"And then you charge me? Don't you think I might have some answers—"

"I'm not taking advice from you."

"Because your solution worked so much better?" He laughs outright. "Why don't you call your friend Kusanagi? I'm sure he'd have a much more thorough and fruitful approach than your helpless scavenging. Sometimes I even wonder why the Blues even keep you around. If you weren't Zaizen's baby sister, I bet you'd be on the streets—"

"Enough!" She balls her hands in fists, body as rigid as an old board. "Enough."

"You won't even take advice from me who's so willingly giving it to you, A~o~i—"

"Don't call me that."

"Would you rather I call you  _ Blue Angel,  _ then?"

"Get lost."

Swinging himself to the side, Spectre begins to pace around her, kicking dust up with the toes of his black shoes. The bottoms of his white suit begin to darken, but Aoi looks far worse: hair mussed, uniform hanging off her body. Has she been eating properly? Or sleeping? Or has she been throwing herself into the fire thinking that might solve her problems?

"Well I have to call you something, don't I? But I guess I do remember from before how you hate your given name ... A~o~i—"

_ Swish!  _ Aoi's wand cuts through the noise and nearly clips his chin. She holds it tight in her fist, and over the heart-shaped piece at the top, he can see her burning, blue eyes. She looks positively livid, and that only makes Spectre more interested to see her lash out. Every fiber in his body is tense for the release—to chase down Aoi and beat some sense into her.

"Are you perhaps looking into the murderer? Did you think he'd be on this island." With a single finger, Spectre pushes the wand to the side and out of his face. "Did you get the information from that little supercomputer of yours, Hayami? Or from the man with a million connections, Kusanagi? I truly doubt this idea came from you ... but this plan of yours, sneaking in and interrogating others—that  _ reeks  _ of you."

Aoi stiffens.

"Your group is doing pretty good without their precious leader, I have to admit." Spectre's grin widens. "I can't say the same for your Duel King though."

Her eyes widen and she launches herself toward, this time clipping him on the shoulder with her wand. She raises it again, but Spectre catches it in one hand and pushes her back.

"How dare you talk about my brother—"

"Like he's a prisoner? Dear Aoi, he put himself in the prison. He abandoned your team of nobodies, no doubt sick and tired of your random bullshit." Spectre taps his chin thoughtfully, ignoring the way Aoi's gaze burns into him. "I bet he's even grateful to us Reds."

"Hm?"

"Because maybe he realises there's nothing left of SOL Technologies worth protecting—"

Aoi's wand smashes into his side. Spectre gasps, but before he has a chance to suck in a proper breath the air whooshes out of his lungs once more. He rolls across the pavement, round and round until his back hits a stone bench placed in the walkway. His back screams in protest; his clothing is thoroughly soiled and covered in grass- and dirt-stains. When he tries to rise, his body screams in protest.

And Spectre laughs. He loves the adrenaline rush of a good fight, of feeling the pain and anger course through him. It puts a slashing smile on his lips and a spark in his eye. He pulls himself the rest of the way up and marches towards Aoi, who stands away from him with her wand braced in front of her, ready to fight at any moment.

Spectre flicks his wrist and his wooden sword leaps into his hair. He spins it round and round, arching it through the blue sky—and then he throws it forward at Aoi, knocking her arm aside. Instead of it falling to the ground though, it bounces back into Spectre's hand, all thanks to a bungee-like vine wrapped around the hilt and his wrist. Spectre catches the sword and tries again, this time sliding to the side and throwing the sword like a frisbee. It hits Aoi's shoulder and she tumbles to the side, bringing her wand up a second too late to guard herself.

"Slowing down, Blue Angel?"

Aoi lunges at him, leaping through the air. Her blue wings extend from her back, and she flies further than he imagined—and then dives right down at him, driving her wand into his collarbone. Spectre jabs the blunt hilt of his sword up towards her cheek, but while it scrapes her, it doesn't stop her attack.

He still laughs though at the injury.

Aoi slaps him across the face with her gloved hand.

"Don't you dare laugh, you creep! Don't you dare talk about my brother like—"

He grabs her wing and slams her down into the ground. Her breath leaves her lungs in a dry, gaspy pant and she coughs weakly.

"Don't do what?" Spectre sneers.

Aoi's hand latches onto his wrist. "Don't you dare forget you used to be a Blue too."

They both have the same emblem, a blue circle embedded into their skin like a tattoo. It's the mark of being aligned to a Duel King—a symbol of one's allegiance to a clan. The marks aren't too flashy or visible, but with their wrists exposed, it's clear that it's the same symbol.

"I've tried washing that off, y'know," Spectre says, "but it still stays on."

"Traitor," Aoi says. "You abandoned the Blues."

"More like the Blues abandoned themselves. I'm glad I got out of there while I—"

Aoi yanks him closer, until they're eye to eye, forehead to forehead. Her cheeks are redder than cherries, her eyes wilder than stormy seas. But her resolve seems so strong for just a moment, as if she's forgotten every insecurity under the sun and moon and is just letting it out at him as some sort of cathartic release.

"How could you abandon us?" she says. Then, stronger: "How dare you, you traitorous creep."

* * *

_ How delightfully enchanting this world is. How is glows, how it moves, how it changes. How it builds itself up from the ground, but without those within it, it could never stand on its own feet. How it's full of thoughts and feelings. _ __   
__   
_ How mysterious this world is. How there's something new at every turn, how there's a clue left forgotten, a mystery left unsolved. How details slip through the cracks, people blend into the crowd. _ __   
_   
_ __ How, Homura Takeru, did you come across such a delightful, mysterious world?


	11. Drop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i thought i left a message saying this story would be on a short hiatus while i was on vacation, but it appears i put that note on a different story. apologies for that! so even though this is not a typical update day for this story, here is an apology chapter. regular updates will resume on Monday, and follow the usual Monday/Thursday posting schedule. thank you for understanding! <33

_"Take an umbrella with you."_

_Takeru tilts his head to the side, and then flicks his gaze to the window. He can see bright sun and blue clouds, not a single speck of darkness on the horizon. In fact, it almost looks like too perfect of a day, and he narrows his gaze._

_"It's sunny."_

_But his friend—he can't even remember her name—pushes it into his hands. "Take it."_

_Takeru complies with a roll of his eyes. He tucks the umbrella under his arm, the spikes digging into his side, and he hikes his backpack up a little further onto his shoulder. Already, the jacket around his shoulders feels hot and sticky, and he considers unzipping it. It'll be cooler when he heads down into the lab, but the walk there should be fine._

_"Be safe," his friend says, tapping him on the shoulder._

_"I will," Takeru says. "Look, clear skies." He sees the worry in his friend's gaze though, and he says it again—"I will"—as if that'll ensure his safety._

_When he steps out the doors, he lets out the breath he'd been holding in, and presses his back to the door for a moment. He can't see anything on the horizon—no shapes, dark clouds, or smoke. It's a perfectly normal day, he ensures himself, as he steps out under the cover of his roof and begins to walk down the sidewalk. The lazy sun follows him, casting a long shadow along the road. Every time he sees another shadow, his heart jumps a little higher into his throat._

It's fine.

_It's eerily quiet along the sidewalk too; no one's leaving their house or heading to work, too scared to come out from the safety of their homes. Even though the skies are clear and the morning quiet, no one even dares cross the street. All the windows are closed and the blinds shut too. It looks like a ghost town here. Even the ocean, blue and shimmering in the distance, is empty._

_Under his arm, the umbrella jabs into him painfully. Takeru swings it around from hand to hand, and opens it up and twirls its canopy in the air. How this will protect him is beyond him, but at least it protects him from the sun, and makes the shadows growing larger on the ground seem not so threatening when he's the largest of them ..._

_Takeru swallows._

_Shadows._

_He swallows a yelp and_ runs _down the street. He can see the falling shadows, growing bigger and bigger as they approach him. His heart races in his chest. How big will they grow before they collide with the cement? How much further do they have to fall before he'll hear—_

Bam!

_The ground underneath his feet ripples and cracks. The bomb must have landed far away, for the ground doesn't tear apart at his feet. But Takeru still hears the bang, and then his ears ring painfully and so loudly that he doesn't hear the next bomb, and the one after that. They keep crashing into the ground, and he huddles under his umbrella, too scared to move. He can't tell what's a shadow from a bomb and what is his own shadow, and he's too scared to lift his head and peer up at the sky. He doesn't want to see what's looking down at him._

_"Get inside!" someone screams to him, but Takeru merely squeezes his eyes shut and hides under the umbrella. The ground beneath him cracks once more, and then this time he feels the concrete separate beneath one of his feet. Then his leg slips in, and Takeru, too scared to let go of the umbrella, tumbles back into the opening. He hears the points of his umbrella scrape across the ground, but he himself doesn't feel the walls closing in around him._

_Then he doesn't hear anything. His ears stop ringing, and his doesn't hear any screams, or bombs, or even the roar of the ocean. When he opens his eyes, he sees nothing either—not the concrete hole he fell through, nor the top of his beautiful umbrella. The entire world has turned inky and black, as if a dark hole has swallowed him up and refused to spit him out._

Takeru.

 _He blinks. There's someone calling his name, but instead of the noise reaching his ears, it touches his heart. He hears it within himself. It_ echoes _inside his chest cavity, bounces off his ribs, tickles his heart. Carefully, Takeru takes a hand off of his umbrella and touches his chest._

Takeru.

_He feels his chest rise and fall, like he's taking deep, soothing breaths—_

"Homura Takeru!"

He blinks his eyes open. Before him is Yuusaku, face so close that Takeru could touch his nose with his own. His green eyes are wide in surprise, and he hastily pulls himself back with a clear blush on his cheeks. To his side, Ai and Flame are chortling away over plate full of french fries.

Takeru blinks once more. Where ... is he?

"Where is your head today?" Yuusaku mutters. "You're spacing out."

"I'm ..." Takeru brings a hand to his head. He was remembering something—or maybe it was just a strange dream. It feels faint and unfamiliar now, and all he remembers is the vague sensation of the umbrella between his hands. There's no umbrella here though. Instead, he's at a fast food restaurant, tucked back in a far booth where he can't see anyone else. There are three plates on the table: two burgers, and one side of fries nearly devoured by the ignises.

"Eat," Yuusaku says, pushing the plate closer to him.

"Y-yeah," Takeru says, and picks up his burger to take a bite. As he chews, he glances around the cafe. It looks vaguely familiar, as if maybe he's seen it in a film or on an advertisement. He recognises the taste off the food too: warm and comforting inside his belly, and so he takes a few more bites. Yuusaku has barely touched his too, and he keeps pulling off chunks to give to the ignises, and eating only the bun for himself.

But, come to think of it, Takeru doesn't remember what he's doing here. He glances around the table for any clues, but nothing stands out as important. Did he just stop to eat? He knows Yuusaku and Ai and Flame, but beyond that ...

Abashedly, Takeru smiles at Yuusaku. "So got any plans for today?"

Wrong thing to say.

Yuusaku's eyebrows fold into the middle of his forehead and his knuckles round his napkin turn white as snow. "What?"

"A question—"

"Did you forget?"

Flame laughs outright, holding his round belly. "Don't you remember, Mr. Soulburner? You were complaining about being hungry—"

"All three of you were," Yuusaku grinds out.

"—and so we stopped for something to eat because the shopkeeper saw our uniforms and immediately told us it was on the house. Free food—must be because of our pretty faces."

Ai whacks him atop the head. "Your pretty face? Hah. It's my good looks that got us in here, I'll have you know."

The little fire atop of Flame's head sparkles, growing hotter and brighter. "You pompous piece of shit, no one would want to be around—"

Yuusaku drops his hands over both of their heads, extinguishing the growing flame and the loud racket. "Shut it." He glances up at Takeru. "Well?"

But at the sound of the racket, Takeru remembers another noise he heard, far louder. It was the sound of bombs; he knows it. And he was there too, feeling the racket under his toes and slipping through the cracks of the world. And then he fell for what felt like ages, until at last ...

_What happened after that?_

"Takeru!" Someone claps him on the shoulder with a hearty chuckle—the shopkeeper, an old man with a soft, droopy face lined with wrinkles. "You taking that food to go, I see? I bet with all your studies you have no time to cook."

Takeru rubs the back of his head. "Yeah, or something like that ..." He pushes his plate towards the shopkeeper, but just as he picks it up, Yuusaku speaks up.

"Do you know him? Homura Takeru?"

The shopkeeper tilts his head. "Well of course—he's a student at the high school across the water, and a regular customer! I see loads of kids come around on the weekends, and sometimes even after classes too. Just look—they even made a mural for me. There's pictures of all of them, though I bet some have graduated by now."

Takeru's eyes widen. Pictures? Of him? At the school, the only person who had a picture of him was Kiku. But maybe he's just shyer at school than out in the city.

Sure enough, there are pictures of everyone up here, crowded together in several polaroids. He recognises Kiku and Naoki in many of the shots, and some of his other classmates crammed into the corners of group photos. Most of the shots are of them eating food, or trying to eat a massive, two-pound burger that appears to be the special at this restaurant. But while there have to be at least thirty pictures on the wall, Takeru doesn't see himself in any of them ...

Yuusaku notices too. "Where Takeru?"

The shopkeeper frowns. "He should be at the top. I remember all the boys came in one day thinking they could each eat the special burger, but then they all got so sick halfway through I don't even think they went to class that afternoon ... not that they weren't already skipping to begin with."

But while Takeru can see those photos—both the before and after shots of the boys—he doesn't seem himself within that crowd either.

"Huh ..." Takeru eyes up Yuusaku, whose expression has slowly become more grim. His hand rests on his hip too ... and on the hilt of Decode Talker that has now materialised at his side.

Takeru swallows thickly. "Hey, maybe you remember me from a different photo ..."

"You mean from the advertisement about the murderer?" Yuusaku says.

"Anyway!" Takeru's voice pitches up several notches. "Anyways, um ... maybe you just forgot, just like I did." He looks down at his feet. "I mean, we couldn't find any pictures of me at the school ... and sometimes I forget my duel disk ... maybe every shred of evidence about me just vanishes because I'm a little bit forgetful?"

_Swish!_

Decode Talker's blade slides under Takeru's chin. He recognises the sensation immediately, and feels the tender skin of his chin and neck scream in protest. Darn it, he was trying to heal the cut. But he doesn't dare say that to Yuusaku who's glaring at him with such fury that Takeru half-expects him to slice his head from his shoulders. The sword doesn't even wobble.

"You think it's wise to play dumb, Takeru?"

"I'm just reminding us—"

The sword clips up into his chin, and this time it draws blood. The blade slowly turns red at the tip, and blood slides down the length of the blade and towards the hilt.

"What's suspicious is the fact that you're saying those sorts of things and _not_ worrying about them."

"Oops."

Yuusaku's mouth curls down in a snarl.

"But look!" Takeru raises a hand, and, as carefully as he can, smiles. "While it might seem strange that there are no pictures of me at school or here, how likely is it that there will be pictures of me at my grandparents' place?"

"Unlikely."

Takeru sighs. "Old people love photos of their grandkids, Yuusaku. Look, we'll just go pick up my duel disk and then I'll introduce you to them. Trust me, they'll love you. And then we'll ask them for some photos of me. I bet they even have my yearly school photos."

"Bleh!" Ai says. "I think we should go get ice cream."

Flame nods his head. "Or go home. We can always get the duel disk another day? And won't the ice cream we bought everyone melt?"

Takeru glances down at his side, to where a plastic bag of candy and chips and ice creams lies. Oh. Did they go shopping here too? He doesn't remember it, but perhaps Kiku sent him out on a mission, or—less likely—Yuusaku made him so shopping so he stops stealing everyone's food.

"OK—"

"No." Yuusaku cuts them off. "We're getting the duel disk."

"Who cares?" Ai says. "Takeru sneaks out just fine on his own."

Again, Flame nods his head. "Airheaded Soulburner doesn't need some tech to get around."

Takeru chuckles nervously. "Yeah, but ..."

"I'm just _saying,"_ Flame says, "that maybe we should save the family reunion for another day, don't you—"

The blade under Takeru's chin disappears, and in the next second it's pointed at Ai and Flame, both who cower together. The lights on their black bodies flicker with each exaggerated shake, and the curls atop their heads are bent back. Their wide, yellow eyes look even larger on their long faces, and they curl into one another. Yuusaku jabs his plate towards them, pushing them into the wall.

"What was that?" Yuusaku hisses.

"Nothing!" Flame says, and whistles to himself.

Ai nods along. "Mr. Playmaker, you must be hearing—"

Yuusaku jabs the sword into the space between their heads. Both ignises shriek in fright and dive down onto the table, pressing their hands over their heads. They give another shriek when Yuusaku jabs Decode Talker _through the table_ right in front of them.

"What are you doing?" Takeru says.

"What are you two up to?" Yuusaku says, voice low and raspy. "What have you done?"

"Nothing, I said nothing!" Flame says.

"Don't blame us for your shit!" Ai adds.

Yuusaku raises his arm to lunge once more, but Takeru shoots out his hand early, grabbing Yuusaku by the elbow and hauling him back. He startles Yuusaku, and his arm roll back. Takeru brushes him away and leans closer across the table, towards the two ignises who have now raised their heads. Their yellow eyes look wet along the bottom, and though mouthless, the shape of their faces makes them seem like they've made little o's where their mouths should be.

"Ai," Takeru says, voice soft. "And Flame." He smiles at them. "What happened?"

The two ignises give one violent shiver in sync, and then a _pop!_ A cloud of purple smoke appears around them, and in the next second the window above their heads smashes open and two black balls shoot through the opening and out into the street. Takeru shoots up in his seat, but before he can move, Yuusaku pulls him back and away from the glass that has shattered over the table and their food.

"Wha—"

Yuusaku yanks him out of the doorway and out onto the street. Though it's busy, with both pedestrians and cars moving around the block, it's still easy to spot two black, glowing balls hovering five or so feet high in the air. The ignises give another jump when Takeru spots them, and they dash around a corner ... only to peek out from the side again.

Yuusaku sighs noisily. "I'm not playing this game."

Takeru glances back at the restaurant, at the broken window. He can imagine the sight inside too: glass everywhere, food and dishes on the floor, and _sword-holes in the table._

"I wonder why ..." he mutters.

"We'll continue on without them," Yuusaku says, spinning on his heel. "To your house first, and then back to the school."

Takeru nods his head. He eyes up Ai and Flame once more, and sees that they've turned back into their sprite-like designs, clinging to the wall like spiders.

"I'm sure they were just joking with us."

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. "Do you truly think I'll believe a word you say, or that you are a wise judge of anyone's character? You don't even know why you're in this mess."

"True," Takeru says. "Wait here though, I think I forgot my—"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Fine," he says with a sigh. "I left the food in the restaurant."

Takeru heads back inside, but in the doorway his eyes catch on something: an umbrella balanced against the wall, made of sturdy wood and canvas. It looks oddly familiar, like maybe he's seen something like that at school, or in a picture book. Why someone would have an umbrella in this kind of beautiful weather is beyond him, but he isn't one to judge character.

"Hey," Takeru says, glancing over his shoulder. "Should I introduce you to my grandparents as my friend or my boyfriend?"

Yuusaku's chucks burst pink.

"Kidding," he says. "No, I'll be honest for once and tell them you're a guy who tried to assassinate me."

"Very funny."

“It's not like you're the only person who wants me dead …”

He scoops up his bag of food and swings it from side to side. Fortunately, he doesn't see the shopkeeper on his way out—that would have been awkward to explain. Perhaps he's hiding upstairs and calling the cops on them for wrecking the place. Oh well, it's not like he has any pictures of Takeru to go off of.

As he heads out the door, he sees the clear, blue sky, not a single dark cloud in sight. But there are shadows on the ground, thousands of them, and it puts a strange, sickening feeling in Takeru's stomach. He wishes this world were full of light and joy. He wishes he didn't have to look for shadows wherever he stepped.


	12. Despair

"You're a feisty devil today."

Aoi swings her wand down on Spectre's sword. She  _ wishes  _ she heard the wood crack or crunch, but instead she feels her attack reverberate on her tired, achy muscles, and she flies back through the air on her wings. She lands, albeit stumbling in her boots. There's sweat across her brow and her breath comes in faint pants. She's been searching every day for any sign of Ema's murderer, so she hasn't had much time to eat or sleep.

And of course she runs into Spectre and his shit-eating grin.

"A~o~i," he teases. "You look a bit tired—"

She leaps through the air and lunges at him. When he brings his sword up to block her, Aoi twists to the side and lashes out at his shoulder. She hits him square on, and Spectre's teeth sink into his lip. It makes him laugh, the masochistic fuck that he is, but she knows he can still feel pain, and with any luck it'll slow down some of his movements. 

Not a second later, Spectre charges her, driving his sword between her arm and side and slicing the soft flesh of her upper arm.

Aoi hisses in pain, but she bites out, "Is that all you've got?"

"You want more?" Spectre says. He shakes his wrist out, and Aoi sees the glimmer of another bracelet—a red bracelet—slide down his arm and onto his wrist. He must have had it further up his sleeve, as she hadn't seen it earlier. And then he swings his arm to the side, and out appears a second sword, this one glowing crimson like the Hanois trademark colour. He swings it round and round, joining it with the other sword—

Blue.

Blue and red, the opposing colours of Link Vrains, the colours of the diverse factions.

Aoi swallows. "H-how?"

"My allegiance rests with Revolver, but ..." Spectre swings the sword up, brandishing them in front of his face. Through the slit in the flaming swords Aoi can see his splitting grin. "Old habits die hard."

Then there's a snap, like the crackle of fire, and he lunges at her, shooting through the air and smacking her dead-on with both swords raised. Aoi coughs at the impact, tumbling back; her wings beat wildly as she tries to regain her footing, but every time she tries to pull away, Spectre catches her with one of his swords. She feels the heat on her face, and all she can do to stop the attack is swing out at him.

"Not so brave now, are you? SOL Technologies' Blue Angel is just a sad doll trapped in a cage, unable to ever break free. Admit it: you're only part of the Blues because someone picked your sorry, depressed ass off the ground and nursed you—"

"Stop!" Aoi shrieks, words tearing at her throat.

"—back to health. We're lost children, Aoi, but I'm not about to devalue myself to charity and think that hope resides into that weak shithole.  _ I  _ am free, and you are stuck—"

"Enough!"

Spectre smashes the blunt sides of his swords against her wand. Aoi's arms buckle under his strength, but when he tries to drive her down to the ground, she holds her own.

"If you abandoned hope, then fine. But you'll never use our blue flames."

The blue sword glows brighter, illuminating the jagged, ugly curves of Spectre's smile.

"Care to find out?"

"That's enough!"

It takes her a second to realise she hadn't blurted out the words, that that that phrase came from someone else's mouth. Slowly, Aoi tilts her head away from the hot flames and down the courtyard, to where Vyra stands with her blade raised. The coat-tails of her jacket sway in the breeze, and she stands ready for combat, expression stern. Aoi's eyes widen. She thought only Spectre would be here, no doubt conducting his own private investigation just like Aoi. If Vyra is here, they must have been on a mission together.

"Fall back, both of you."

Spectre doesn't budge.

Aoi shoves him off with a groan, and steps back, breathing heavily. She can feel singe-marks along her cheeks, and when she raises a hand to her face, she feels sticky sweat on her fingertips. Her hair is greasy too, bangs wildly splayed across her forehead. Spectre's swords have cut into her outfit: one of her wings is bent, and her skirt is torn and ragged in several places along the hem.

Across from her, Spectre rises up to full height. He twists his head towards her, eyes wild.

Then Vyra slaps him across the cheek, and unlike his normal sadistic grin, he recoils in surprise.

"That's enough," Vyra hisses. Then she spins on her heels and turns her back to him, and instead faces Aoi. Her expression fades away, replaced by a neutral stare. And then she bows forward, just enough to show some gratitude.

"Please excuse us, Miss Aoi. Come with me and I’ll tend to your injuries."

Aoi blinks. "S-sorry?"

"Your wounds," Vyra says, raising a hand to her chin. Aoi mimics her, and feels hot blood dripping down from her neck. She doesn't remember that wound, but then again her fight with Spectre had been a blur of lunges and parries.

Vyra continues: "I'm a registered doctor, though even if I wasn't I could easily treat burns and cuts."

Aoi shakes her head though. "No ... no way," she says. "You're ..."

"A member of the Hanois, yes. But I have no reason to fight with you, Aoi. You are not my enemy."

Aoi bristles, but she doesn't say anything. No reason, her ass! Spectre just launched a full-blown assault and Vyra has the guts to say there's "no reason." Even Aoi, mind boggled, can think of several reasons why the Blues and Reds would be at each other's throats even without the result of recent events. It's not like the two sides have ever gotten along to begin with, so what's so different about now?

"We're not going to start a war with you over this," Vyra says, voice cool and even. "We have your Duel King in custody, as per his own orders, and we intend to keep him safe and stable during our investigation. This isn't supposed to be a bloody battle, and I'll stop anyone who tries to pit fights. So." Vyra extends a hand. "Will you please stow your weapon and come with me?"

Aoi sinks her teeth into her lip and crosses her arms. She tucks her weapon against her hip, fastening it to a decorative belt along her waist. Then she turns on her heel and begins to walk away. She knows basic first aid too, and she'd much rather suck up to Kusanagi or let Hayami tend to her wounds before she went off with a Hanoi.

"Aoi," Vyra calls out to her. "If you'd like, I can even relay a message to your bro—"

"Enough," Aoi hisses, glaring over her shoulder. Vyra's eyes widen, and her mouth snaps closed. "Enough," she says again, "about all of this. We're not on the same side, and what you've done—what you believe is right—is so full of shit. Now let me  _ leave."  _ She turns quickly on her heel and dashes off and down the pathway. She hears Vyra call out to her once more, but she thankfully doesn't hear a single yip out of Spectre, who she hopes is still cradling his bruised cheek.

Her shoes tap so loudly on the concrete that the whole school must be able to hear her. She passes by several students setting up for the festival, and while some of them turn their heads to her and her Blue Angel costume, they all seem preoccupied with their work. The closer she gets to the courtyard, the more students she sees, and suddenly someone steps out in front of her. Aoi loses her footing and tumbles forward onto the girl, throwing out her hands so that she doesn't faceplant on the student's chest.

"Sorry—"

"Oh gosh, you're hurt! Are you all right?"

Aoi lifts her head. She'd forgotten about the injuries she'd sustained in her fight with Spectre: her cut arms and legs, the bruises on her face, and the rips in her outfit. She must look like quite the sight. Hurriedly, Aoi pushes herself up off the girl and rolls to the side. Now that she thinks about it, her body does hurt, aching in places she never knew could feel pain. Gently, she rubs at her sleeveless arms and glances over to the girl she'd fallen atop of. She's a student, maybe even her age too, with long, blue hair pulled up in a ponytail. She has a soft, heart-shaped face. In her hands, she holds a megaphone; to her side is a clipboard that she must have dropped when they collided.

"S-sorry," Aoi stumbles out.

"No, no—it's fine," the girl says. "It's my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going. Here." She stands up and brushes her skirt off, and then extends her hand down to Aoi. "Come with me, we need to treat your injuries."

"These aren't from you," Aoi says, holding her hands up to her chest. "And anyways, I ... uh ... gotta go." Her eyes flick behind the girl. Will Vyra pursue her? Or Spectre? Ryouken could even be here too, and he's one of the last people Aoi wants to see. But she doesn't see anyone there, and the hand remains extended to her.

"Please, let me give you a hand."

Reluctantly, Aoi takes her hand and rises to her feet. She winces as the skin on her knees stretches; it's been torn to shreds, and blood drips down her calves. There are scratches on her arms too, not to mention her previous wounds which have been either bleeding or aching. She wobbles to the side, and the girl's hand steadies her a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to bring the first aid kit out here?"

"It's fine," Aoi says.

"Let's walk then," the girl says. She takes one of Aoi's arms and, very carefully, lifts it over her own shoulders. Aoi stiffens at the contact—she doesn't even know this girl. But the student doesn't seem to make anything of it as she begins to walk, one step at a time, towards the school. As they head back, they pass by more students carrying bins and boxes, and everyone asks what's going on. Aoi hangs her head in shame. If she sees Vyra and Spectre, she'll waste no time in pummeling them for round two.

But ... it also feels nice to be taken care of. Were her brother here, he would have put her on his back and piggybacked her safety. He would have tended her wounds and gave her a lollipop to suck on, and then she would have hung out in Cafe Nagi and ate hotdogs all afternoon. The thought of Akira stings her heart. She can't do anything for him, not if he's put himself in solitary confinement in the enemy's headquarters.

"Hey," the girl says after a moment. "What's your name?"

"Aoi."

"I'm Kiku." She pauses. "You're not a student here, are you?"

Aoi shakes her head.

"What brings you here then?"

Through her bangs, Aoi sees Kiku smiling at her. She looks kind and genuine, and though Aoi can feel a dark cloud washing over her, she shuffles her arms a bit and pulls out her duel disk. No matter what happens, she came to this school for a mission. She came to find Ema's murderer and rescue her brother, and so that's what she ought to do. Aoi presses several buttons on the pad of her duel disk, and then a small, holographic image lights it. She shivers at the sight of the killer, eyes wild, white hair whipped across his twisted face. He holds a gun up to the monitor, the barrell glistening in the moonlight.

Kiku sucks in a breath. "Oh."

Aoi nods grimly. "Have you seen this guy here?"

"Is he bad?" Kiku asks.

"Yes," Ai says. "Have you seen him though, or anyone that looks like him?"

Kiku leans closer to the screen, pursing her lips together. She remains silent for a moment, until at last she leans back and shakes her head. "Sorry. Maybe you'll have better luck in the city, but nobody at this school looks like this, and besides you, I haven't seen any other strangers on campus in a while." Tucking her head under her chin, she adds, "I hope you do find him though. Now ..." With a heave, Kiku takes a strong step forward. "Let's go get your wounds cleaned up, all right?"

Her heart sinks down to her toes. The criminal isn't here? But Hayami even said that this was the best place for a criminal to hide in. She assured them that if anyone wanted to avoid detection, they'd need to simply blend in with the only institution in Link Vrains with its own private security: Den City High. But now, instead of finding anything about the killer or her brother, she's gone and gotten herself injured. No doubt Kusanagi will call sometime soon asking where she is.

"Hey," Kiku says, giving her a gentle shake. "You'll find him, all right?"

"Sure," Aoi says, voice empty. "Sure."

* * *

Spectre marches with his head down back towards the docks. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Aoi walking with a school student, but the moment he lifts his head, Vyra glares so fiercely at him that he figures it won't do any good to aggravate her until they're out of earshot. But then again, the thought is tempting. He can tell how pissed she is by the tapping of her heels on the cement, sounding like nails breaking through the ground.

When they get to the docks, where no one can see or hear them, and the only noise for miles around is the wind on the water, Vyra clears her throat loudly. "Spectre."

"Yes?" he answers, drawling the words out. He swings round to find that, no surprise, she looks like she bit into a lemon. She keeps on tapping her foot, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest. Spectre isn't that afraid of her though. He swings an arm to the side, noting the blood on the cuff of his white jacket, and says, "What, Miss Vyra?"

"You know exactly what."

"Then tell me."

She huffs loudly. "I think you're forgetting some words you ought to be saying now?"

"Am I?" He says. "Well, let me see here ..." And then he pulls his arms into himself and stares down at his feels, making himself so small that he barely casts a shadow. "I am truly sorry Miss Vyra for my actions, such as abandoning my duties as your escort, leaving my post without your permission, and starting a fight with a rival clansmen by my own decision. In the future, I will take my duties more seriously and assume that your decision always leads to results."

He lifts his head, a smile spreading across his face. "Is that what you wanted to hear,  _ ma'am?" _

She rolls her eyes. "From your mouth, everything you say sounds like shit and lies. But"—she holds up a delicate finger—"there is one thing you got wrong. My decision did lead to results."

"Yeah, your decision to sit in with those idiots—"

"While you snuck off an no doubt hacked into the school's system while the principal was fully engaged in pointless chatter with me. What? You thought I didn't know you'd get bored and wander off to conduct your own investigation? You're just like Aoi, desperate to be the hero and save the day."

He snarls. She knew? But he only lets the rage get to him for a second, before he lets out a rough guffaw and crosses his arms over his chest. "Is this you saving face, Vyra? You're telling me this was all according to plan, that you thought I'd skip out of that room and hack into the system all on my own? Way to take credit for yourself."

"I'm not," she says coolly. "We both did our parts and it led to this result. So." She grins at him. "I'd like to hear the results of your personal investigation?"

"Haven't even looked."

_ This  _ of all things surprises Vyra. Her eyebrows rise up into her red hair, and her mouth drops into a little o. "You ... haven't even looked?"

"I got distracted."

"By Aoi?"

"By her shitty interrogation," he corrects. "But here, let's have a looksie."

He unlocks his duel disk and brings up the holographic screen so that Vyra can see too. Coding scans across the screen for a moment, before Spectre flicks it all away and zeroes down on a file filled with names and pictures. The images flash across the screen, each one being x-ed out.

"It's looking for matches," Spectre explains. "Comparing the image of the murderer we have to the mugshots—oops, I mean class photos—of all the students at this school. Facial recognition software, only the bonus is that these files also contain the GPS coordinates of every student in the school."

"So if we find a match," Vyra says, "then we can locate the suspect and apprehend him."

"Bin ..." Spectre frowns. He taps his fingers across the screen once more, accessing other files and running scans on them too. Through the screen he can see Vyra staring at him, and more than once he hears her say, "Everything all right?" but he ignores her until he's scoured every inch of the data. He clicks his duel disk closed and swings it down to his side.

"Your idea was wrong," he says. "There isn't a single student or faculty member here resembling that girl's murderer."

Vyra swallows. "W-what?"

Spectre's grin widens.

"No—there must be more files, or maybe new students who haven't been registered—"

"Hah." Spectre laughs outright, hands poised on his hips. "This is one of the most prestigious, high-security schools in all of Link Vrains, and you think they might not have added students to the registrar yet? No, the murderer's not here if his name or face isn't there, which means." A snap of his fingers. "The culprit was never a student here."


	13. conunDrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every chapter i should just make a preface that says "and then the mystery thickens"

It's eerily quiet in the house without Spectre around, Ryouken realises. He's gotten used to a certain level of noise when he created the Knights of Hanoi and invited them into his house. Though they both have their own homes, they often stay at his place, messing up his living room or leaving their belongings scattered on the main floor. Though this is meant to be their clan's headquarters, it looked more like a dorm room.

He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. No matter how many times he tells them to do their work and look after themselves, he always finds some evidence of their fooling around. And since he sent them on a mission together, no doubt they'll be a storm brewing over that school from the trouble both of them can get themselves into. Fortunately, their foolery is overshadowed by their loyalty. They won't come back without results, even if they are results he doesn't like to hear about. The mission will go according to plan; Vyra will see to it.

As for his own plan ...

He wanders down a set of stairs into his basement. While his main floor is beautifully decorated and features dozens of large windows, his basement is built into the mountainside on which the house stands, and down here the only light comes from the artificial lamps hanging from the ceiling. The corridor is dark and gloomy, with sterile walls and a stone floorway. His boots click on the ground with each step he takes, and the sound follows him around several bends until he stops at a cell.

Ryouken smiles.

Inside is Zaizen Akira, the infamous Blue Duel King of SOL Technologies. He looks even weaker today, flopped down on his side with his arms bound in front of him. The handcuffs are then chained to the ground by his bed. There's enough chain for him to wander off the bed and to the toilet in the wall, or even to walk halfway across the large cell; but any time Ryouken has ever gone down here, he's only seen Akira lying on the bed. 

He looks like he hasn't gotten up in days too. His blue hair is greasy and thin, and flattened to the side of his head. His eyes are hazy and unfocused, his skin sallow and sinking into his cheek crevices. His uniform hangs off his lanky form: a business suit thoroughly rumpled with crease marks all along one side. His gaze is so unsteady that he doesn't even raise his head when Ryouken opens the cell door, simply turns his head into his shoulder and gives a weak, choked cough.

"Another quiet day?" Ryouken says. He doesn't wait for Akira to respond, eyes sliding over the untouched food and drink at the foot of the bed. No doubt a good meal would help him, but Ryouken hasn't seen him touch a single bite of food since he handed himself over.

"You're not as frightening as everyone makes you out to be, you know." Ryouken leans against the wall by Akira's bed, kicking one foot behind him to brace himself. "Both Spectre and Vyra refuse to come down here, though both of them are eager to give me ample suggestions of what to do with you. Care to hear them?"

Akira coughs into his shoulder, this time sounding like his throat is clogged but too weak to even clear it. Through his heavy clothing, he looks to be shivering too, yet he's kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed in a messy heap.

"Vyra is a registered doctor and specialises in viruses. She's offered to inject you with a toxin to either speed up whatever is afflicting you, or kill you with another poison so that you don't have to suffer anymore. She says it's not worth dragging your death out, so she knows of many chemicals that can destroy the body within minutes, sometimes even seconds. How does that sound? the sweet release of death."

Akira doesn't budge.

"Or"—Ryouken chuckles under his breath—"Spectre is quite the sadistic torturer, and he says that the fun comes in watching someone slowly suffer and break down. His suggestions included injecting you with slow-acting poisons that'll rip apart every organ in your body without giving you any release. It'll be even more arduous than whatever disease you're afflicted by. I'm not sure Spectre realises my house isn't a getaway retreat and that I want your ass out as soon as possible, but I guess I could leave Spectre to care for you ... He gives truly unique bedside service. Lovely, aren't my companions? Truly, a peaceful terrorist organisation attracts the cream of the crop of humanity."

"Dis ... gusting."

Ryouken's eyes widen. "So you do have your voice, as weak as it must be. Why don't you drink something and we can talk? I promise, I didn't let Spectre poison the water."

Akira shakes his head to the side, but it seems to jostle something inside him, for suddenly he heaves and chokes, spitting bile over the side of the bed. Ryouken doesn't move, but his eyes widen at the sight. The last time a Duel King died, it was quick, like severing the head of a human: the dirty deed was done, and the King collapsed. But Akira is dragging out his demise, destroying himself from the inside out.

"No matter how weak you look, people still manage to be afraid of you." He laughs. "You hold quite the status on your shoulders, Akira."

"I'm sure ..." Akira shakes with another withheld cough. "That you are just as scary as me."

Ryouken's grin widens. "Comes with the title, huh?" He leans back further on the wall, using it as a sort of crutch to keep his body upright. He doesn't even dare look at his watch to know what time it is—he's been restless ever since Akira first came here and Ryouken saw the damage done to his body. As much as Ryouken hates to admit it, he doesn't want Akira to die. That would mean the destruction of Link Vrains, the only city he's ever felt welcome in, and his beautiful home along Stardust Road.

He'll end his own life before he dares let Akira drop his Dragon Sword on his future.

"Guess we're both the scary bad guys then," Ryouken says, swallowing back a chuckle. "But you know, as much as my reputation precedes me, anyone belonging to a clan knows what a broken Sword means. It's not like the past was all that long ago ... of the city that was banished from a dropped Sword. I'd like to avoid a repeat of that."

Akira tilts his head, sallow cheeks dragging across the bedspread. It appears to take all his energy just to move his head and keep his eyes open, as his lungs begin to wheeze once more, and he doesn't seem to have the strength to take a deep breath in.

"I don't want another Blue Duel King, you know." Ryouken voices the thought casually, voice light and airy like a spring breath, and still equally contemptuous and rumbling in his throat. "As much as you and your company disgust me, Zaizen Akira, I've learnt to tolerate you. I don't want to waste the energy again learning about another Blue. Besides, this virtual world has too many Duel Kings to begin with. We're all crammed like sardines in here; it's no wonder we fight."

Slowly, Akira's eyes squint together. He looks like he's going to pass out or sneeze, but then he just breathes out two words: "Your ... point?"

"You're a dying man, aren't you? You don't want to hear me prattle on. Well." Ryouken pushes himself off from the wall, and comes to stand before Akira. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down his long nose. Akira is such a sorry sight he can barely raise his head, but even beaten down and chained up, he still looks like a trying, albeit failing, businessman.

"Zaizen Akira, you will abdicate your throne as the Blue King."

Akira laughs, the sound soft yet grating on his abused throat. He begins to cough once more, body convulsing on the bed. Ryouken doesn't move an inch, not until Akira drags his head up and glares at Ryouken like he's just insulted his entire business. Maybe he has.

"I thought ... you said ... you didn't want another Blue Duel King."

Ryouken shrugs his shoulder. "My apologies then. What I meant to say is I don't want another Blue brat self-appointing themselves for a role that they will never be able to live up to. I don't want the Dimensional Stone choosing some cocky upstart ready to make a difference in the world. That is why I would like you to  _ abdicate  _ and choose your successor. At the very least, I trust your judge in character."

Akira presses his lips into a thin, tight line. "And if ... I refuse?"

"I will kill you."

Akira doesn't budge an inch, at least not until Ryouken's duel disk trills loudly in the cell. Ryouken flicks his gaze to it—a call from Vyra, no doubt information about her and Spectre's mission to Den City High.

"Excuse me," Ryouken says, turning on his heel. "I'll see you tomorrow. Think carefully, Zaizen, about who can lead what you have created. I'll look forward to your promising response." Then he heads out of the cell, locking the door closed behind him. He hurries up the stairs and into the main room, where there is better reception. All the while his duel disk vibrates and rings from repeated calls, until at last he answers the call and mutters, "I saw the first one."

"Then please answer it, sir," Vyra says.

"Is this from the mission?"

"No, sir," she says. "This is something else. The white-haired murderer has been spotted at the Den City Duel Stadium. Spectre and I are en route to his location. Permission to apprehend the target?"

"Granted," Ryouken says. He's already hurrying to the door, yanking on his jacket and shoes. He dashes out the door and leaps through the sky, floating briefly before his D-Board materialises beneath his feet. As soon as he lands on it, the board jolts forward and down a steep road paved into the mountainside. Behind him, his house glows like a welcoming beacon—and to his side, Ryouken sees the shimmering lights of Stardust Road.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"If the target is perceived as a threat, permission to execute him?"

"Denied." Ryouken twists his lips together, tasting salt on his tongue as he veers around the bend and towards the city. "I want him alive, you two. I want him captured so that I can learn more about him—who he works for, what his motives are. I want to know who pitted the Blues against us, and I want to take  _ them  _ down."

"Understood."

* * *

Takeru sits on the subway car, crammed between the wall and Yuusaku. He's not sure which one is softer. Yuusaku hasn't said a word, and now more than ever does he wish that Ai and Flame were still around so they could crack jokes and break the silence. The train is deadly quiet—a pin could drop and every person in every car would be able to hear it. His breath even sounds too loud, ripping at his throat and whistling through his chattering teeth.

Slowly, he glances up at Yuusaku. He doesn't look mad or anything, but then again Yuusaku doesn't have many expressions to begin with, and the only time Takeru can tell whether he's in deep shit or not is if Decode Talker is pressed under his chin. So by that standard he's fine, and yet ...

The train car gives a rough jolt, and his shoulder bumps into Yuusaku, who remains firmer than the wall and doesn't budge.

"Sorry," Takeru murmurs.

Yuusaku doesn't say anything.

When Takeru spots the familiar station name where his grandparents live, he stands up. Yuusaku rises with him without any prompting, and follows him out of the train car and onto the platform. It's just as busy in his grandparents' suburb as it is in the heart of the city: people mill around or just stand in the middle of the platform, and he has to weave around them just to get out on the street.

Yuusaku  _ still  _ doesn't say anything.

Takeru  _ really  _ wishes Ai and Flame were here as the affectionately annoying peanut gallery.

Quickly, he hurries off down the road, twisting and turning down several sidestreets. He keeps on walking, the path feeling familiar on his aching feet. Even his footsteps ring in his ears:  _ this is the right sound, the right road, the right people, the right ... _

He blinks.

There's no house on this road, but instead a large dueling stadium built both for dueling practice and for city-wide competitions. Takeru knows a bit about dueling, but he doesn't even remember there being a massive stadium out here—and certainly not where his grandparents' house was. He turns around and glances behind him, but there aren't any houses there either, just a small, green park with a couple of swings.

"Takeru?"

His heart sinks. Now he doesn't want to hear anyone's voice.

He looks back at the stadium. It looks new ... ish. But Takeru knows he visited his grandparents' house just last week—he remembers the good food he ate there, and the beach they visited. He remembers all that, and yet there's no beach in sight, nor a house, nor anyone that could possibly be his grandparents. It doesn't even look like there ever  _ was  _ a house built here.

"H-how?"

Yuusaku narrows his eyes at him. "Takeru, where are we?"

"My ... my grandparents' house?"

"Your grandparents live at this stadium?"

"No ... no, I mean—their house was here, I remember going to it last weekend. This the right way, I know it." He points down the road they came from, and says, "Off from the Waterside Station, and then two right turns and a left. That's the way to their house, I've been there before. I even know what it looks like."

"Do you have a picture?" Yuusaku grinds the words out. "On your duel disk that your mysteriously left at their place perhaps?"

"I don't know," Takeru snaps. His throat closes up, and he chokes on the next words. "I don't know why ..." Then he dashes forward, leaping over the garden beds. He kicks open the doors; at this hour, the stadium is closed, and since it's a weekight, there's no tournament or match in place. All the lights are off too, and they don't flicker on as Takeru wanders through the dark building. In the shadows, he can't make out much, but hanging from the ceiling are dozens of banners from championship matches, all dating back at least twenty years.

_ But their house was here ... I swear. _

When he hears the drum of Yuusaku's feet, Takeru bolts forward and up the stairs onto the dueling field. The lights aren't on out here either, but the moonlight provides just enough of a glow that he can see the steel bleachers and chairs, the rows upon rows stretching up to the heavens; the elaborate virtual dueling field with an extended track that arcs up into the sky and wraps around the entire building. This building has been standing for ages; it can't be new or renovated, and it certainly couldn't have been simply dropped down on top of his folks' place.

The clicking of Yuusaku's feet stop right behind Takeru. He stiffens and swallows thickly.

"This ... is it."

"Liar."

Takeru whirls around. "I'm telling the truth! This has to be it, this—here, give me your duel disk."

"My  _ what?"  _ Yuusaku pulls his arm towards his body, and his other arm swoops around at the ready to summon Decode Talker.

"To call my grandparents—I know their number."

"Do you now?" Yuusaku rolls his eyes. "Just like you know their address?"

"No—yes—just give it here."

To his surprise, Yuusaku complies. He doesn't remove his duel disk, but he unlocks the device and stretches out his arm. For a moment, Takeru frowns. This duel disk looks too complex for him. But then Yuusaku opens the phone application, and Takeru punches in his grandparents' number.

_ "The number you have dialed is currently not in service. Please check the number and try your call again." _

Yuusaku raises a thin, blue eyebrow at him. He doesn't have to say a word.

"I dialed it wrong," Takeru says, and he calls them once more. He receives the same message, only this time it sounds more condescending.

"M-maybe their duel disk died?" he says with a weak smile.

Yuusaku doesn't smile back. "Like yours?"

Takeru opens his mouth to retort, when something cold plops down on his cheek: rain. And plenty of it too. Rather than beginning to drizzle, suddenly the sky dumps an entire waterfall's worth on their heads, and no sooner has he said, "Should we look for cover?" before he can feel the water soaking through his uniform and into his bones. His hair sticks to his cheeks. Yuusaku fares no better, the spikes of his hair dropping down into his eyes.

"We're looking for your grandparents' house—"

"I know!" Takeru says. "Maybe—maybe they moved, Yuusaku, and just forgot to tell me. Or maybe they're going to pick us up here—"

"Your lies get shittier the more you talk." Yuusaku stretches an arm across him, and a fizzle of purple light appears in his palm. Takeru knows the signs well. Yuusaku is about two seconds away from summoning Decode Talker and sticking the sword  _ through  _ his neck. Across the field, he can see another light too, looking a lot like Ai and Flame crouching in the wet bleachers. But Takeru doesn't have time to deal with them, not when he needs to find his grandparents' before ...

Before what? Wasn't he set to die anyways? The rain on his face pelts him, and thunder rolls over their head. It sounds like the bombs that he remembers seeing that one day, and the planes that dropped them too. Would an umbrella even stop the rain, or would he still feel wet and scared and haunted?

"Takeru."

He laughs, just once, a sound that escapes his cracked lips. "What now?"

Yuusaku doesn't loosen his arm, still poised and ready to draw his weapon, but his face creases in surprise.

"Does nothing about me make sense?" Takeru asks. "Can I not remember anything—not where my grandparents' live, not where my duel disk is, not even ... where I was on December 7? Does that mean none of that exists though? Do I not have grandparents, or a duel disk? Was I ever even there on December 7?"

Yuusaku draws his sword and shoves the tip of the blade under Takeru's chin. This time though, Takeru doesn't even flinch at the cool metal under his jaw. Blood drips from the yet-again-opened wound, but he pays it no attention. The water washes it away, dripping down his pale cheeks and onto his uniform.

Weakly, Takeru forces another laugh. "Am I even Homura Takeru?"

Yuusaku spins his sword around, and this time drives the hilt up into Takeru's throat. He chokes at once, but doesn't step back or run. He can't. Yuusaku would track him down in an instant and slay him on the spot. He might as well conserve his energy and pray that Yuusaku ends him cleanly and quickly.

"Then who are you?"

"Who knows?" Takeru shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe I'm your Colourless Duel King, or maybe I'm someone else. I don't even know. But with that information alone ..." He stares down at Yuusaku, chin raised, eyes wide. "Will you kill me, Yuusaku?"

Then he closes his eyes. The rain beats on him like a heavy hand, and the thunder roars in his face. Takeru stiffens at the feeling on the hilt in his throat; it's like a rock pressed to his lungs, and he can hardly take a breath. Yuusaku's hand doesn't even shake, remaining firm and resolute—until he pulls it away and a soft, robotic voice says:

_ "All is not lost yet. _

_ "Even embracing defeat _

_ "does not mark the end." _

Takeru's eyes flicker open.

"I have no reason to kill you yet, Homura Takeru." He swings his wrist around, and Decode Talker disappears into thin air. His duel disk flickers and glows on his wrist, and Takeru stares at it strangely. What even is that thing—some kind of predictive haiku device?

"Three reasons why I can't kill you." Yuusaku holds out his hand begins to count on his fingers, raising one digit for each reason. "One, you are the most untrustworthy person I have ever met—"

"Thanks," Takeru mutters.

"Two, I cannot believe any word you said, even if it approves or disproves my theories. And three ..." He sighs. "I am here to judge your innocence, and I cannot do that if you give up. My goal is to find the Colourless Duel King and kill him. If I cannot prove that you are that murderer, then I cannot kill you. So until I have obtained further information about you, or about the murderer, then all I can do here is track you and examine your behaviour."

Yuusaku brings his duel disk before him, and once more plays the delicate haiku on his duel disk. "Three passages—those aren't just meant for you, but for me too. I must not give up on my quest to find the murderer. And so, though I will accept defeat in that you have led me on an absolutely pointless goose chase for your precious duel disk, I cannot use that as evidence to slay you. I shall have to wait."

He can't help it—he starts to laugh, holding his stomach. Yuusaku's eyes widen and he steps back, and a crimson blush appears on his cheeks.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Be—because you're not going to kill me."

Yuusaku tilts his head to the side. "And?"

"I don't want to die." Takeru nods his head as if to confirm it for himself. "I want to know what happened to my memories too, and why details are so fuzzy. I want to ... I want to remember, even if it hurts." Thunder crashes over his head, and he winces as he remembers the sound of the bombs once more, of that terrible day when he went outside.

"Homura Takeru." Yuusaku takes a step closer to him—not to drive his sword into his chest, or to punch him, or to belittle him. No, a bit of light shines where Yuusaku steps up to him. "Will you give up on passing judgement to yourself, or will you look for those missing memories?"

"I'll live," Takeru says. "Because maybe down the line I won't be a suspect in a murderer anymore."

"Just an airheaded kid," Yuusaku grounds out.

"Something like that."

Then the lights appear, sparkling and bright and clicking on all around the stadium. At least a hundred lights blind them with their strong rays, and the whole stadium—seats and field—glow. Takeru sees Ai and Flame dive for cover, and then he hears it: the sound of feet sinking into the wet ground, splashing on the tarmac. He spins around at the sound, only to widen his eyes.

Who ... are they?

They must be an organisation of some sort, for both persons wear similar styles of white clothing: the woman in a crisp, white blazer and skirt, and the man in a white suit. The woman's hair is red, and the highlights sparkle in the bright lights; the man himself just glows, an eerie spectre of white hair and skin, and piercing blue eyes.

Yuusaku grabs him and yanks him back behind him. Takeru stiffens at the close contact, and he peers over Yuusaku's shoulder. He's never seen people like that before. They don't look like SOL Technologies either; he remembers running into the blue girl and the cafe owner, and neither of these strangers look like them.

"Who ..."

"Quiet," Yuusaku hisses. "Those are members of the Knights of Hanoi."

"Good guys?"

He hears Yuusaku suck in a breath. "They want to kill you too."


	14. Delusion

He briefly remembers Yuusaku telling him about the Knights of Hanoi, the Red Clan and the rivals of SOL Technologies, the Blue Clan. They look even more terrifying than the Blues, but perhaps that's because they look like an organisation: professional business attire worn with an air of confidence. Both members have stern expressions, though from time to time the man curls his lips back. Takeru can't tell if he's smiling or snarling.

Or maybe they're just scary because he knows nothing more about them. They circle him and Yuusaku, one on either side. Both of them wield swords with thin blades, one made of metal and the other wood. They hold them out at their sides, and Yuusaku summons Decode Talker and swings it around to point at the woman.

"Vyra—"

"Fujiki Yuusaku," she says, tilting her head towards him, "and the murder suspect, the Colourless Duel King, we of the Knights of Hanoi will be taking you both into custody under the order of our Duel King." She flips her blade through the air, and catches it mid-spin, slicing through the rain. "Resist, and we will have to use force."

Takeru swallows thickly. Whereas the Blues just charged him head-on, these guys seem much more prepared and organised for an attack, and no doubt that means they won't be able to just run—

Yuusaku grabs his wrist and pulls him to the side. Takeru's feet scrabble on the wet ground, but Yuusaku tugs him forward and he regains his footing. They dash towards the way they came through the tunnel and out the main doors. With the lights on, Takeru can see his footing, and he spots both Ai and Flame chewing nervously on their hands from up above. He almost shouts out for them to follow him, when Vyra's voice rings out loud and clear.

"Spectre, apprehend them."

His feet slip across the ground, only this time Yuusaku can't pull him back up; instead, Takeru yanks Yuusaku down, and they slide across the wet ground, the tarmac skinning their hands and knees. He hears the thunder of footsteps now, and in the bright lights he sees a shadow approaching him, raising a weapon—

_ "Skill activate!" _

The stadium disappears, replaced by a typical street in Den City, bustling with pedestrians and cars and bikes. There's not a single patch of the city that doesn't have someone in it, and still crouched on the ground, all Takeru can see are feet and legs. He pulls himself up, and tugs Yuusaku to his feet too. They've wound up in the city somehow, only just ten or so steps away Takeru sees Spectre twisting his head from side to side.

Yuusaku pushes his head back down into the crowd.

"Takeru, listen to me," he hisses. "This is an illusion. Spectre and Vyra won't know we're here ...''

But the rest of Yuusaku's words drown out over the  _ crash!  _ that resounds from Ai and Flame stomping around the city, their avatars now as tall as skyscrapers. They beat and bang on the buildings, crashing them like twigs under their feet. On the ground, people don't seem to realise what has stepped on them until it's too late—but Spectre screams, and his voice rings through the city block.

Takeru stifles his own scream. "W-what—"

"An illusion," Yuusaku repeats. "A Skill of the ignis. Now come on, we can get out of here." He grabs Takeru's wrist and pulls him forward, but Takeru digs his feet in. This—this looks too familiar, so much like that day he left the house and saw the bombs. The city was destroyed too, and everyone died, and he needed to find cover but he couldn't even move or breathe or think—

"Takeru!"

"This is an illusion!"

"Find him!"

_ Help me.  _

The world cracks like stained glass. First the sky breaks in large pieces and tumbles towards the ground, disintegrating only moments before it would crash onto the people below. Then the city itself glitches like a broken system, buildings disappearing, road turning back into code, colours melting away to standard RGB. It sounds like the beginning of lightning, but what breaks through the gentle, blue sky isn't lightning nor rain nor darkness, but the sharp point of a Dragon Sword. The Sword tumbles down through the heavens, cutting apart the world like slicing through butter.

"S-sword," Takeru chokes out. He remembers seeing a glowing sword that one day on the roof of the school, but back then it had been so far away and looked more like a little toy children might buy. The Sword tearing through the sky is much larger, perhaps meant for a giant to wield, and embedded with a flaming, red stone. Around it circles a large dragon, its body covered in holes that at first look like wounds, but he then realises are  _ guns barrels. _

The world tilts and glitches once more, and then there's no longer a beautiful city, but instead the deserted, too-bright stadium they were in before. Gone are all the people and cars and bikes; it's just him and Yuusaku, the ignises, and the Knights of Hanoi. Vyra and Spectre both seem stunned by the illusion too, but through the light emerges another Red. The man commands such an aura that he seems almost too much to look at.

_ Flick!  _ The man twists his wrist, and both Ai and Flame come flying from the bleachers and land with a splat on the dirty ground. Takeru rushes forward at once, scooping up both Flame and Ai. Yuusaku stays where he is, but when Ai begins to twist around, Takeru lets him dash up and stand on Yusuaku's duel disk. Ai waves his fist up and down, hissing.

"What was that for, you meanie?"

"I don't care for ignises lurking in the shadows, and I'll dispose of you pests later. For now ..." The man tilts his head up to them. He's younger than Takeru thought, with the light playing off the highlights of his face. His white hair is streaked purple at his bangs, and it curls around his narrow face. A pair of striking blue eyes freeze them on the spot. No doubt he must be the leader of the Hanois judging by his white attire: a crisp suit with a long cape across the back, detailed with a red stripe.

"You lot are dangerous," he says, drawling the words off his tongue. "And while the Knights of Hanoi are a terrorist organisation, we'd rather no one else make drastic changes to this peaceful paradise. Am I clear?"

Takeru nods his head at once, up and down like the flick of a switch. Yuusaku doesn't budge.

"Revolver."

"Or Kougami Ryouken," he says. "Whatever rolls off the tongue better."

"Sir." Vyra rushes to his side, and at once places herself before him, holding her sword at the ready. Spectre comes sauntering over a moment later, but he doesn't stand before his leader; instead, he hangs off to the side, swinging his sword around his wrist and giggling to himself. 

"We can take 'em!" Ai says to Yuusaku. He pumps his little fists up and pretends to punch the air. "Come on, lemme at 'im. I'll show that punk what a real ignis can do."

Flame snaps his fingers, and a small spark of fire appears in the palm of his hand, undisturbed by the pelting rain over their heads. "I'll burn that sly tongue of his off."

"No," Yuusaku says. "Ai, Flame—you two will take Takeru to safety. I'll hold off the Red King here—"

"Wait!" Takeru says. "I know you want to be a hero and all, but can you think seriously—"

"I am," Yuusaku says. "You're a nuisance and a distraction, Takeru. You're better off away from here. Ai, Flame, look for an opening and run. If those two pursue you, do anything in your power to protect Takeru."

"Even murder?" Ai says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Yuusaku doesn't respond. He gives Takeru a push on the shoulder, and then scoops Ai up and chucks him towards them. "All of you, get ready to run. I'll take them on." When Takeru dares to open his mouth, Yuusaku brings his hand to his hip, right where Decode Talker would be. "Go."

"You don't have to say it twice," Ai says, and Flame pulls on Takeru's collar. Though he can't run yet, not with Vyra and Spectre surrounding him, he presses himself back against Yuusaku for a moment, and then steps forward. He'll wait for Yuusaku to take them on, and then he'll run—not fast, not far, but somewhere where he can find help.

Yuusaku can't fight on his own.

* * *

Yuusaku  _ can  _ fight on his own. He can feel Takeru just behind him, a ghost of a figure quaking in his boots. Both Ai and Flame are the loudest strategisers in the entire city, and Yuusaku can hear their plan to escape all too clearly. But he doesn't hush them or snap at them to use quieter voices—his mind is too preoccupied with Ryouken, who stands before him like a white knight ready to deal the final blow.

Yuusaku clicks his hand over his hip. His sword fizzles, not quite materialising, but at the first spark, Ryouken's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he whistles lowly.

"Is that Decode Talker, the famous blade?" At Yuusaku's silence, his grin widens. "I've heard that sword is so powerful it could slay a Duel King  _ and  _ snap his Dragon Sword in two. Say ... perhaps you'd like to turn that blade on me? You're special, Fujiki Yuusaku—I can tell that a battle with you would be exhilarating."

Yuusaku clenches his hand into a fist, but he doesn't draw his weapon.

Ryouken's eyebrows sink low over his icy eyes. "I said, I'll allow you to unsheathe your weapon."

"No." Yuusaku spits the word out. "This blade will strike down the Colourless Duel King and no one else. It's not a toy to play with."

Ryouken snorts, and bounces one of his shoulders under his white uniform. "Well, as much as I've seen of your behaviour these past few days, all you've been doing is playing—"

Yuusaku lunges forward, striking off from the ground and shooting like a bullet towards Ryouken. He aims to grab at Ryouken's sword, which he'd seen tucked behind his jacket, but just as he stretches his arm out, Ryouken grabs him round the wrist. Yuusaku's world tilts violently as Ryouken spins him forward like a waterwheel over his arm, and then drops him to the ground. His cheek smacks down on the wet cement, and bits of dirt and rock puncture his chin.

"What good is a sword," Ryouken teases, "that hasn't even been drawn."

He pushes up off the ground, but Ryouken's foot swing round and digs into his gut. Once more Yuusaku tumbles to the side, holding his stomach as he rolls across the tarmac.

"I overheard your chat with the murderer, you know." Ryouken speaks light and airy despite his deep, gravelly voice, and his feet click on the wet pavement with each step he takes. "You say your duty is to protect Link Vrains. How can you even succeed, Fujiki Yuusaku, if your sword is sheathed?"

He swings his leg out, this time clipping Yuusaku's shoulder. He groans in pain, wrenching himself to the side and out of Ryouken's line of fire. It hurts. Everything hurts. But he doesn't draw his blade. Decode Talker isn't meant for petty skirmishes; it's a revered blade meant to slay the troublemakers of Link Vrains, the murderers and abusers of this peaceful city.

"Will you still not draw your blade?" Ryouken asks, crouching down to Yuusaku's level. He fists his hand in Yuusaku's hair and lifts him up off the ground. Yuusaku throws a punch out into the air, hoping somewhere along the way he'll collide with Ryouken's jaw, but then Ryouken chucks him to the side like a bag of hay, and Yuusaku coughs and groans as once more he slides over the wet, albeit prickly, cement.

"I refuse," Yuusaku hisses. He lifts his head, and spits the blood pooling in his mouth. Though every part of his face stings, he keeps on talking. "I will judge my targets before I slay them. Until I have proven Homura Takeru's alibi, I will not let anyone—not myself or anyone else—lay their hands on—"

Ryouken's foot drives down into his skull. Yuusaku lets out a scream before he can muffle it, and he kicks and writhes beneath the great, black boot. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees scraggles of moonlight—stray tendrils of Ryouken's wild, white hair, windswept from their brawl. Though Yuusaku can't see his face, no doubt Ryouken isn't even breaking a sweat yet.

"I'll give you three reasons why that's a stupid idea," Ryouken says. He stretches down and holds out his fingers for Yuusaku to see. "One, you refuse possible theories and wait for the answers to make themselves apparent. Two, you are led on the possible theories that Takeru believes in, and thus your evidence is biased. And three, you have made yourself a bodyguard to a possible criminal just so you can get the final say in whether or not he murdered a fellow clan's member. Does that make any sense to you, Yuusaku? Homura Takeru isn't some ditzy airhead; he's a crafty genius who has led you along all the while ensuring that any theory you come across proves his innocence in the murder. I am sure you have plenty of proof that he murdered Bessho Ema. You just refuse to believe it."

Ryouken digs his shoe in deeper. "You know what an ignis is and the powers they have. You know they can alter perceptions and even memories. Who's to say everyone you've met—Takeru's friends, for example—didn't have distorted perceptions of who he is? Who's to say this life he's living is even his life at all?"

"That's—"

"Believable, and true." Ryouken removes his shoe, but Yuusaku doesn't get up. The thoughts swirl in his head: Takeru's airheadedness and forgetfulness, all his missing memories, the lack of pictures of him. Weekly, Yuusaku lifts his head up to Takeru, who stands with the rain soaking his hair and face, uniform clinging to his gangly body. If that's not Homura Takeru, then who is that?

"Fujiki Yuusaku." Ryouken clears his throat, and then his voice booms through the stadium. "Our interests are mutual. Our goals are common. Why don't you and I find out together whether this boy is even worthy of your protection?"

"He ... hehe ..."

Yuusaku's eyes widen. Takeru's head dips down towards his chest, and from his mouth come a series of snorts and giggles, starting quiet but slowly growing louder and louder. His shoulders begin to shake, and Flame hops down to stand next to Ai or else he'd fall off. Takeru keeps on laughing though, growing louder and louder—and then he snaps his head up, and his face twists in horror.

"Well," he says, drawing the word out, "guess my cover has been blown and there's nothing I can do about it! I am indeed the Colourless Duel King, the Seventh King of Link Vrains. But now you've caught me, uh oh!" Takeru holds out his arm, where both Ai and Flame have begun to quiver.

"I was even using the powers of these ignises to play the innocent life of a high schooler. See?"

Takeru's smile stretches across his face, and then from his chest bursts a great, bright light that shoots up like a rocket towards the sky. Yuusaku's eyes widen at once. A Dragon Sword—the Sword of the Seventh King. It's pure white and black, with a large, white dragon encircling it. The dragon's wings are webbed with flames, and it glows so brightly that it seems to swallow the stars, the darkness, the moonlight, anything in its path.

Across the field, Vyra shouts, "Another Dragon Sword. Revolver, get back!"

But Ryouken moves too, and grabs both Spectre and Vyra. Yuusaku remains on the ground, head lifted up to the great Sword. All of the theories rush through his head, but when he tries to draw up a thought, it slips through his mind like sand. He never—he never truly thought Takeru could be the Duel King. The proof never matched up, not like Ryouken had said it would ... and yet there floats Takeru with his Dragon Sword.  His face is split in glee, and his body shakes with barely-contained mirth. The expression is wholly foreign on his normally unblemished features.

"Now come!" Takeru says, holding out his hands like a god. "Come and accept my blessings. Come and stop me, pitiful Duel Kings. I'll show you what a true fight looks like!"

Yuusaku can only stand with his mouth open. All this time he wanted to apprehend Takeru before a fight broke out, before anyone could rip apart this city any further. But now he sees the crackle of white electricity around Takeru's body—white-hot fire licking at the edges of the building. On the ground, Ryouken scorches the concrete with his own fire, and he balls his hands in fists, ready to leap up and deck Takeru. If Takeru and Ryouken fight, it's surely to end in bloodshed and calamity. Plus, whose to say their battle won't attract other Duel Kings? The last thing any of them want is a city-wide brawl.

"Yuusaku."

He glances back up at Takeru. How ...

"Yuusaku, look this way."

A hand grabs his cheek and jolts his face to the side. Yuusaku's hand flies to his side, ready to pull out Decode Talker and slice the arm off whoever touched him—when his eyes widen in surprise. There, standing on the ground is Takeru himself, grinning ear to ear. He looks like the regular old Takeru Yuusaku has been with for several days now.

Takeru pinches his cheeks once more, and chortles. "Come on, while they're distracted let's make a break for it."

"H ... huh?" Yuusaku tilts his head back up to the figure in the sky, but Takeru pulls his gaze roughly to him.

"That's not me—see, this is me, and these two on my shoulder ..."

Yuusaku's eyes widen. An illusion. The ignises created an illusion of Takeru as the Colourless Duel King. But before Yuusaku can ask any questions, Takeru grabs his hand and yanks him forward. Ai comes running down their connected arms and settles back on Yuusaku's shoulder, while Flame curls up in the crook of Takeru's neck. They head into one of the dark entrances to the stadium, and then make a break out onto the street. Only then does Takeru speak up.

"So about that—"

"What were you even thinking?" Yuusaku yanks his arm free. "Putting yourself up as the Colourless Duel King?"

Takeru twirls around on his heel and raises both hands. His cheeks are tinged pink, and even though they're running for their lives through the dark streets, he appears surprisingly calm and docile. "Relax, I had it under control! Besides, they believed it, even my cheesy evil villain speech—one part magic, one part bluff—"

"Now they're definitely going to think you're the murderer."

"Like they didn't already?" He puts his hands on his hips and clicks his tongue. "Everyone already thinks I'm that Duel King, so why not put on a show for them? I figured that since they're after the murderer, that the best way to startle and stop them, and for us to get away, would be a true to life performance. Get it? And you should have seen the look on everyone's faces—"

"But you—" Yuusaku groans under his breath, and presses his palms into his eyes sockets. Already he can feel a blossoming headache. "Aren't you trying to prove you are  _ not  _ the murderer?"

"Who truly believes that?" With a sigh, Takeru begins to walk down the road, kicking stray rocks with the toe of his shoes. Yuusaku follows after him, and walks closer so he can make out the rest of his words. "Who truly thinks I'm Homura Takeru? Not even me, sometimes ..."

With a sigh, Yuusaku drops his fist down on Takeru's head. Takeru groans and peers up through his bangs, but Yuusaku keeps his head tilted away, refusing to make eye contact. He looks up at the stars instead, counting the trillions of speckles lighting their path home.

"I told you, Homura Takeru: until there is proof you are the Colourless Duel King, I must believe in your innocence."

Takeru's cheeks blossom pink, and he bounces his shoulders a bit with a small, choked laugh. "Glad you still don't want to kill me then. Now come on, at the very least I know where my dorm room is.”


	15. twisteD

The first time someone walks _through_ Takeru, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He, Yuusaku, Flame, and Ai had been running through the streets, slipping around corners and avoiding unwanted attention. He'd been so focused on watching for any Haanois jumping out and pursuing him that he hadn't been paying attention to anyone else on the street—not that there were many to begin with, but just as he rounded a corner he nearly collided with someone, only ... they walked right through him.

"Eek!" Takeru shrieks, jumping back in fright.

Yuusaku rounds the corner with him, and the stranger passes through him too. They give a little shake, as if maybe a cold breeze brushed over their shoulders, but otherwise they continue on with their trip undisturbed. Yuusaku's eyes widen to the size of the moon, and he throws his head over his shoulder. "Did that person just ...?"

Takeru nods, and clears his throat roughly so he can speak. "How—how come ..."

Whirling around, Yuusaku grabs Ai by the skin of his neck and holds it up in the air. "Is this your doing too?"

"Whose else would it be?" Ai says with a huff. "Do you want to get captured by those creeps?"

Ai has a point, but Yuusaku's grip tightens round his neck, and Ai chokes and coughs.

Takeru stretches out a hand, and Flame darts behind his neck, peeking through his hair. "It's all right, Yuusaku. I'm sure Ai—"

"How long have you been doing this for? This perception distortion thing, it's your speciality. It's why no one knows who Homura Takeru is or why there are no pictures of him anywhere. It's why he can't remember to bring his duel disk, or why he thought his grandparents' house was at a stadium. Why did you do this, you nuisance?"

Ai pushes and pulls at Yuusaku's hand, but his grip only tightens.

"Because Takeru is nice!"

"You better have a better reason that that." Yuusaku flicks his gaze to Takeru, and before he can retaliate, Yuusaku grabs Flame off Takeru's shoulders and hangs him in the other hand. Both ignises squirm, but neither of them are strong enough to get out of Takeru's grip.

"Let us go!" Flame says. "Or we'll distort your perception so bad you'll be in therapy for weeks."

"Try me," Yuusaku says, and tightens his grip once more.

Takeru glances from the ignises to Yuusaku, and then down to his own hands. He's not about to throw himself into the line of fire—Yuusaku will just pull Decode Talker out on him and then they'll never get to talk. Plus it's not like he can simply ask Yuusaku to listen to him seeing as he truly believes what he's saying. Are all his memories fabricated by Ai and Flame? He wants to know too why they would do something like that.

"If—if you kill us, then you can't get the information from us."

Yuusaku shrugs. "There are other sources."

Ai's mouth drops to his feet, and he begins to squirm more. It has no effect on Yuusaku.

Warily, Takeru glances around. Can anyone else see this happening? Will anyone come and arrest them? And will the Hanois find them? Who knows if they're still invisible, or if Ai and Flame have cut their powers as punishment for Yuusaku's interrogation. Takeru doesn't wait to find out though. He grabs Yuusaku by the shoulder and hauls him towards the nearest alleyway. If there's going to be an interrogation, the least they can all do is stay out of immediate danger.

"Where are we—"

"Out of earshot," Takeru says, pulling Yuusaku deeper into the alleyway. The buildings stretch up and peak at the top, and though he supposes there may be eavesdropping residents up above, not a single house light is visible. They cram themselves into the back of the alley, tucked behind a dumpster and several old, musty boxes. It reeks of alcohol and mold, and Takeru pulls his collar up over his mouth and nose. Next to him, Yuusaku adjust his grip so that he holds both Ai and Flame in one palm, and uses his other hand to hold his collar over the lower half of his face too.

"Well?" Yuusaku says after a moment.

Takeru swallows. He stretches out a finger to Ai and Flame, now hanging glumly from Yuusaku's hold. He touches their faces, but neither ignis turns to face him. They both look so beaten down now.

"Do you know who I truly am?" Takeru asks.

Neither of them say anything.

"Do you?" His voice comes out soft, nearly a plead. "Please?"

It's Flame who speaks up, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes slant down and he purses his lips together. Altogether, he looks pissed. Takeru can't blame him when they're all crouched in a dirty alleyway for a deep interrogation while also hiding away from a terrorist organisation. It's not the best situation to be in.

"Takeru is just Takeru," Flame says. "Or Mr. Soulburner if he wants to feel powerful."

"And we found him!" Ai adds. "We found him first, Mr. Playmaker, so you can't have him. We picked him up when he fell, and that means he's ours."

Yuusaku's mouth drops open a bit, and he brings a hand up to his chin. "When he fell ...?"

Takeru doesn't remember falling, but perhaps if his memories are distorted, he wouldn't remember a fall. But then again, there was that one night ...

* * *

He doesn't feel the fall or the land, but one minute he's elsewhere in the world, drifting through the clouds, maybe even falling—and the next minute he's staring up at the starlight above his head and the moon gazing down on him. There's a sizable hole in the ceiling through which he can see the sky, and he wonders just what made that hole in the first place? Him? Or perhaps a meteor?

He blinks his eyes a couple times and then turns his head from side to side. He's ended up in a warehouse of sorts, though there are only a few remaining boxes pushed towards the corner. Thankfully, he fell on some blankets and sheets that look to be drapery or tent covers—and while it shouldn't have softened the fall all that much, under his back it feels nice and cosy.

Wearily, he begins to drift away, when something small and bright lands on the tip of his nose. Takeru sneezes and swats it away, but the ball only moves a few inches back before hovering at eye-level. It's small, maybe tennis-ball sized, and black as the night save for intricate, glowing carvings around its body.

"What're you?" Takeru mumbles, stretching out his hand to the creature. It shifts away once more, but then, slowly, begins to creep back to him. He keeps his hand still as the little ball rolls into his open palm. The first contact makes him suck in a breath, but then he feels a soft warmth against his palm, and he curls his fingers. The creature leans in too, nestling against him.

"Are you OK?" Takeru asks. He slides his thumb over the top of the ball, and in return the creature gives a purr, sounding like the turning gears of a well-oiled car. "You weren't hurt in this fall, were you?"

The warehouse door screeches open on its wheels, and a beam of light shoots through the door and directly into Takeru's face. He sneezes again and ducks his head down. Can everyone stop shining light in his eyes? But then he sees, through the doorway—and with the light now pointed down at his feet—that someone has found him, a girl with dark blue hair, nearly black in the light, and a soft, heart-shaped face.

"Hey there," she says, and then her eyes widen to him lying among the rule. "Oh gosh, are you OK there? Did you trip and fall or something?"

His eyes widen. He doesn't know her at all. She looks to be a student, but then how did he end up here, at a school? He opens his mouth to say something when electricity zaps him straight in the palm. An electric current shoots down the length of his arm and into his heart, but he feels it in his mind too.

"I'm ..." Takeru swallows. "Homura Takeru?"

"Oh, Takeru, there you are!" The girl crosses the room and kneels down in front of him. She holds out her hand for him, and with his free hand Takeru takes it. She pulls him up to his feet, and dusts off the dirt on his uniform. "I've been looking everywhere for you—did you sleep out here or something?"

Takeru closes his fist round the little ball and tucks it into his pocket before Kiku sees. "Haha yeah," he says, forcing out a laugh. "I was just feeling tired, and it's so warm under the moonlight, and ..."

"Well I've found you slacking now, so come on, let's get back to the festival. Who knows how much we'll have to clean up."

* * *

Flame concludes the story with a roll of his eyes. "We weren't brainwashing you—I don't even think you had any brains to begin with, not with that fall and all. You looked totally wrecked when we found you—"

"And yet." Ai touches his heart with his hand. "You reached out to us like the benevolent saviour that you were, and the Roof Penetration Incident came to be."

Takeru swallows thickly. "Then ... then I really fell through the ceiling? And made that big hole? But then how did I not die? No one could survive a fall like that, unless I was banging a hole in the ceiling and then fell through or something?"

Yuusaku clicks his tongue together. He gives the ignises a shake, and asks, "Then are all of Takeru's memories fabricated?"

"Well, you see—"

"I _said—"_

Takeru speaks up over the racket, and though his voice bounces all around the alley, he lets it be loud and clear. "Maybe there never was a Homura Takeru."

Yuusaku slides his gaze over to him, eyes narrowed. "Do you truly believe that?"

"What else is there to believe?" He shrugs his shoulder, and reaches out for the ignises. Yuusaku lets them go, albeit with some grumbling. Takeru catches the ignises in his palms and draws them closer to him. Flame holds onto him, but Ai hangs over the ledge and makes faces and obscene gestures at Yuusaku.

"It makes the most sense, doesn't it? No one knows me. No one has any pictures of me. Everyone _says_ they know me but no one can prove it, just like perception distortion. But then that means ..." Takeru bites his lip. "If I'm the Colorless Duel King, I must have murdered someone in Den City at 23:45 on December 7, and then managed to make it back to the island and Den City High at 00:30 on December 8 ... by crashing through the warehouse roof? I guess that's possible."

_Click._ Yuusaku draws his blade, but he doesn't swing it round to clip under Takeru's chin. Instead, he merely holds it down by his feet, staking the blade into the grimy concrete.

"Are you ready to kill me?" Takeru asks.

"Not yet," Yuusaku says. "This changes nothing to me. Not until I've seen it all with my own eyes can I properly make a decision about your innocence. All this proves is that you are _not_ Homura Takeru, the student at Den City High. That doesn't mean that you are a Duel King, or a murderer."

"Am I nobody then?" Takeru says.

"We shall see."

Takeru crosses his arms over his chest. Really, he'd much rather get his demise over and done with. How is he supposed to live someone else's life? And what life was he even meant to live? It's wonderful that the ignises gave him a new future, but really he'd like his old one back.

In his hands, Ai and Flame share a meagre warmth. Takeru vaguely remembers feeling the ignises that night, but everything else feels more like a blur.

"Do you know about me?"

"Why would you want to know?" Flame says. "Isn't this a better life?"

"Yeah," Ai says, nodding his head up and down. "Maybe you were once a really pathetic person, and now you're much cooler."

"Hard to believe that now," Takeru says, and his last words peter out at the end. His teeth sink into his lip, and when he looks up at them again, it's with renewed determination. "Return my memories please. I want to know who I truly am."

"As I said, kid—"

"Flame." Takeru strokes his head with his thumb, and Flame's eyes grow larger. "Please."

"But you're Mr. Soulburner, our Takeru even."

"And maybe I'll still be." Takeru dips his head down, cradling the ignises up to his face. "Maybe I'll still be the same person, or maybe I'll be someone else. But ... but to you, I'll always be Soulburner. I am who I am. So ... so please—"

"Takeru." Yuusaku coughs roughly into his fist, and Takeru's head flies back up. He squints his eyes to see if the light is playing tricks on him, or if Yuusaku truly is blushing, but before he gets a chance Yuusaku flicks his wrist and Decode Talker disappears, and he crosses his arms over his chest. "We need to keep moving."

"Right, right ..." He glances around at their dingy surroundings, and at the sound of feet on the main road. Are the Hanois still after them? Are Ai and Flame's perception distortion magic still working?

He clears his throat, and then holds Ai and Flame up to his eye level. Both ignises turn their back on him, but Takeru calls them softly. "No more manipulations, please. Let me know who I truly am."

"Fine," Flame says.

"Enjoy your shitty past," Ai adds.

Then Takeru feels something pop within him, like a bubble that's been burst. Something slides into his brain: thoughts, memories, filling up his mind like a swimming pool with water. Then names dapple on the surface of his memories: cities, friends, favourite foods. It all sounds so foreign and new for a moment, but then, like an old friend, the unfamiliar seems much more familiar.

Takeru closes his eyes as the feeling washes over him. When he opens his eyes, he's up in the clouds once more.

_Where am I?_ Takeru wonders. He blinks his eyes, but the world doesn't get any clearer. In fact, it seems to get further away, almost as if … He's floating. Beneath him, Takeru sees thick, fluffy clouds, but little slivers of the ground are visible too. It's hard to tell how high he is, or how fast he's floating up through the sky. His legs dangle, but he never falls. Above him, nothing tangible seems to be pulling him up. Then he flips through the air, and he tumbles and tumbles in great, wide circles. He closes his eyes and rides out the sickening feeling in his stomach.

When he opens his eyes again, he nearly bonks his head against the roof of an airship. Its great, ballooned body is made of smooth, curved metal. It has several rudders on the bottom to help it steer, and large fans to propel it through the air. Along one side he can see a stretch of shimmering metal that looks different from the body of the airship. Only when he crashes through it does he realise it's glass.

Bits and pieces of glass catch in his hair as he rolls through the window, but he stops short as someone's hand catches round his neck. Takeru's heart stops as he lifts his head. Staring back at him is a face so like his own: red cheeks and blue eyes, only his hair is blue and orange. When he spots Takeru, his entire face curls in a twisted grin.

"Bye."

He pushes Takeru back through the window. Takeru falls down, this time faster, as if everything has been sped up, and when he hits the ground, he wonders if he ever floated and fell in the first place, or if it was all an illusion. His breath knocks out of him as he lies on the ground staring up at the dark sky below. There's no airship or clouds in sight. The air feels cold on his bare skin, and nestled in his heart he thinks that maybe today is the kind of weather he needs a scarf for.


	16. frauD

"Sir, what are you doing?"

Ryouken slams the fridge door closed, but keeps his back turned and his shoulders up high. No, he was not eating red bean paste directly from the container and no that was not Vyra's food. That would be absurd. But Ryouken wipes the traces of jam from his lips with the back of his wrist, and when he turns around he hopes he looks as convincing and revered as he should be.

Vyra stands with her arms crossed and her lips pursed. She opens her mouth to say something, but Ryouken beats her to it.

"Any news?"

Vyra shakes her head. "I'm not even sure how they escaped ..."

Ryouken nods sagely. He'd been surprised when he saw the Colourless Duel King in the air. It had been so real, so climactic—and then he'd seen the slightest crack in the illusion, and when he broke free from it the three culprits had all disappeared. He, Vyra, and Spectre had searched long and hard into the night for any and all signs of them, but eventually the sun had risen for the morning and, too tired to continue, they'd trudged back to Ryouken's house and fallen asleep.

It's only been three hours since then. A pounding headache thrums deep in his head. His eyes burn just by looking at Vyra, and his vision grows blurry.

"Only my deepest apologies," Vyra says, dipping her head down. "Spectre and I will expand our search area."

"What's that about me?"

Spectre swings around the corner. Despite getting as little sleep as the rest of them, he look well-refreshed. It's almost unnerving to see how clear and bright his eyes are, or how his skin stretches across his sharp face. He shoves his hands in his pockets and weaves his way through the room, dipping into the fridge and returning with Vyra's can of bean paste.

"Hey—”

"Ah, ah," Spectre says, waving his finger at her. "This is communal—"

"It is  _ mine." _

Ryouken coughs lightly into his fist. "Both of you," he says. "There are more urgent matters to attend to." He scoops the container out of Spectre's hands and returns it to the fridge. When he turns back to Spectre, a shiver runs through his body. Whenever Spectre smiles, it looks truly like a grimace.

"Do you have anything to report, Spectre?"

His grin widens. "I do." He winks at Vyra, who rolls her eyes. "That man we met last night—Fujiki Yuusaku—has been spotted running through the city. I've no doubt that he's in leagues with the Colourless Duel King. Plus"—Spectre snaps his fingers—"Fujiki Yuusaku took a Den City duelist's duel disk."

Ryouken raises an eyebrow. He remembers seeing Yuusaku's duel disk; it was an older model, perhaps even an antique passed down in his family. Surely Yuusaku wouldn't steal some regular old duel disk when he has a perfectly functioning one. But then again, he is travelling with and protecting the Colourless Duel King, so anything goes.

"What can he do with a duel disk though?"

But then, just as Spectre opens his mouth, Ryouken's own duel disk trills loudly. He doesn't recognise the name and number, but a thought clicks into his mind. What if this is ...

"Hi there, this is Homura Takeru, but you might know me more as the suspect in the murder—"

"Don't call yourself that!"

Ryouken's eyes widen when he hear Yuusaku's voice. Then he hears the squabble of two other, tinnier voices belonging to the ignises in the party. When Takeru gets back on the line, he sounds out of breath, and his words come out garbled like he's pressing his face into the microphone.

"Are you still there? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," Ryouken says with a sly grin. He spots Spectre rushing to his computer to trace the call. While there's no guarantee how long it'll take to locate Takeru and Yuusaku, Ryouken knows he has to stall for time. So he chuckles heartily into the receiver and says, "How thoughtful of you to name yourself before the Red Duel King."

"Haha, actually that's just my manners." 

_ What?  _ Ryouken thinks.  _ Is this kid just clueless or something? _

"But anyways." Takeru clears his throat, and the noise comes out as the sound of a garburator cutting up trash. "I wanted to tell you something about the case you're researching. Are you listening?"

"Hm."

"There's something going on with the airship in the sky. You should try speaking to the man who pilots it."

Slowly, Ryouken tilts his head up to the ceiling. There are large windows up there that block out the harsh rays of the mid-morning sun, but that lets him see the clouds up above. He knows little about the airship that cruises through the sky, having seen it plenty of times but never researched much into it.

"The white airship," he murmurs. Then, bringing his duel disk up towards his mouth: "Are you referring to the airship that circles Den City?"

"Yep, that's the one! Thanks for listening to me! Bye!"

And the call disconnects before Ryouken can even get a word in. He stares at the screen as if waiting for Takeru to call him back and say that it was all a joke, but the only blinking message on his screen is a text from Spectre. After a moment, he shakes his head and opens it. There are a series of coordinates that open a map on his duel disk, and a pin drops right down the road from his house, along the road bordering Stardust Road.

"They're outside!" Ryouken says. "Vyra, Spectre—"

"Already on it, boss!"

Spectre dashes by him and to the balcony. He leaps onto the railing and then off into the clear sky. His D-Board materialises beneath his feet, and suddenly he arcs through the sky and to the side. Ryouken hurries along with him, with Vyra right on his heels. The three of them dart from side to side, avoiding wind pockets that threaten to yank their feet off the board. Ryouken crouches low to pick up speed, and feels the power course through his legs.

As he rounds the side of the mountain, he sees a caravan parked on the side of the road, not even a ten-minute walk from his house. With no pedestrians or other cars in sight, the caravan sticks out like a sore thumb. The three Hanois descend upon it, leaping off their boards and hurrying to the door. Ryouken kicks it open and heads inside first, gun drawn.

But there's no one inside—not even a normal pedestrian at the wheel or sleeping in the trunk. In fact, the only thing inside the caravan is a regular, old duel disk with its screen flashing with the end call button.

With a growl, Ryouken shoots the floor of the van. He hisses between his teeth. It hasn't even been five minutes since he last spoke to Takeru and he's already ditched the van. He couldn't have gone far, but when Ryouken tears himself out of the van and gazes down the road, all he sees is black tarmac and blue sea. There's not a person in sight. And if Takeru escaped with Yuusaku, no doubt they traveled by D-Board, and thus they could be ages away by now.

"Well that sucks," Spectre says, swinging his arms up above his head. "Talk about mysterious, that weird kid."

"Enough," Vyra says. She turns to him, and though her expression remains firm, he can tell she feels a bit sorry for him when she speaks. "Ryouken, we still have a clue to go off of."

"Hah!" Spectre kicks a rock into the water, and the light  _ plop!  _ sounds far too loud on the quiet road. "We going after an airship now? Ain't that ..."

"The Silver Duel King." Vyra dips her head down. "Sir, you don't think that Homura Takeru was referring to the Silver Duel King perhaps? What could that mean?" She clicks her tongue together, and nestles a hand in the soft, red threads of her hair. "Perhaps he's preparing you for a fight and saying that if you fight him, the Colourless Duel King, that the Silver Duel King will come to his aid."

"Why would the Silver Duel King wanna protect that murderer though? Isn't he some mindless peacekeeping fool too?"

Ryouken shakes his head, and it settles both of them down. He fixes them each with a strong, stern gaze to ensure that neither of them—and especially Spectre—interrupt him. Then he clears his throat and says, “Involving the Silver Duel King is quite the feat. He flies the white airship, never investing or meddling in minor affairs, and not commanding such a presence like the Gold Duel King. Not much is known about him, but everyone in Link Vrains has seen that airship sailing all around.

_ "The Fire Storm,  _ as it's more commonly known, seems to be everywhere and every moment. I've heard many a duelist state that they've seen the airship several times throughout the day, and that there even may be more than one copy of the ship. But in fact, there is only one  _ Fire Storm,  _ and it has always been piloted along a fixed route."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Spectre's mouth open, and he cuts him off: "A  _ fixed route,"  _ he repeats, "means that it's driven along the same path. Somehow, it is always able to account for changes in the weather or for gas, and never once has it fallen from the sky. However, recently I have seen it take a different route and travel down an unfamiliar path. It's also been flying lower, nearly scraping the tops of skyscrapers at times, whereas before it was always high above the sky. The first time I saw it on a different path, I merely brushed it aside. Everything breaks down eventually. But then I saw it again and again, and at one point it nearly hit a duelist off their D-Board. So I conducted my own private investigation and tracked its route, and more specifically when it had changed. I thought I'd find some news about a broken engine, but I only deducted  _ when  _ the change in flight occurred."

He pauses.

"Care to share?" Spectre says.

Ryouken smiles. "Sometime between the evening of December 7 and the early morning of December 8—"

"In other words ..." Vyra rubs her chin. "The night of Bessho Ema's murder."

"Correct, and perfectly timed too. In fact, I could even deduce where the ship was exactly when Bessho was murdered. It passed over the exact building she was murdered on at midnight, and then continued on over the sea. It passed over Den City High at thirty minutes past midnight. Since then, it's veered off its course numerous times without any sign of engine malfunction. Considering the precise times and the fact that we know Bessho was murdered at 23:45, and that the ship travelled to the presumed location of the murderer, I suspect that something has happened to the Silver King aboard the ship."

All three of them tilt their heads to the cloudy sky. It looks empty at first, but then Ryouken spots the slight jet-trail of the airship, and out in the distance, heading to one of the islands floating around Link Vrains, is the airship itself. Never before has he seen it so far outside of the city's borders.

Spectre whistles loudly. "Is the pilot drunk or something?"

"I hope it's merely just that," Vyra says. She crosses her arms over her chest, and then tilts her head to Ryouken. "Sir, permission to overtake that vessel and interrogate the suspects?"

"Granted," Ryouken says, sinking his teeth into his lip. Whatever has happened aboard that ship, it must be connected to Bessho Ema and the Colourless Duel King. The coincidences are all too strong.

* * *

Takeru  _ thinks  _ he's gotten better at standing on D-Boards, but then as soon as Yuusaku shoots through the air and out of the caravan, he clings to the board for dear life and prays that he doesn't slide off. He makes sure not to touch Yuusaku, or even worse cling to his legs, but as the wind whips at his face and tugs at his legs that dangle over the back of it, Takeru wonders if maybe he should hold tighter.

"What are you doing down there, Mr. Soulburner?" Flame asks. "Afraid of a little high speed?"

Ai peeks over Yuusaku's shoulder and rubs his little chin. "So this is what a hit and run feels like."

"This isn't a hit and run!" Takeru squeaks out the words. "We didn't even kill anyone."

"Says the guy who just said he's the murderer over the phone—"

"The  _ alleged  _ murderer," Takeru says.

Yuusaku slams his heel down on the board and veers sharply around a corner, avoiding several duelists on a quaint ride through the city. Takeru closes his eyes and braces himself as him body swings to the side. His legs kick out behind him like streamers on the end of the bike. They must look like quite the sight riding through the city, but then again they're moving so fast that no one would be able to get a good look at them. He can hardly see the city around him; everything blurs together in blues and reds and greens, and occasionally the sun stabs him in the eyes.

"Hey," Ai says, tapping Yuusaku's shoulders. "Your boyfriend buddy is looking pretty green. Wouldn't want him to barf all over your board, huh?"

Yuusaku turns an even  _ sharper  _ corner, and Takeru's stomach clenches. Yuusaku did that on purpose, didn't he?! But Takeru can't open his mouth, too afraid that he will be sick on the board, or even that he won't have a voice. The air whooshes by him and it feels like he can't even take in a single proper breath. His head feels light too. Woozily, he presses his cheek down onto the board.

"Close your eyes," Yuusaku says to him. "It'll help the nausea pass." A pause. "Or stand up. You're not helping yourself any lying down on the board."

Weakly, Takeru nods. He closes his eyes, but that only raises the fear—and sickness—in his belly, so instead he pushes himself up onto his shaky feet. The board doesn't feet long enough for both of them, and so he huddles as closely as he can to Yuusaku, who bristles at the slight contact. Just like the last time they rode together, Takeru spreads his legs to help himself balance, and bends his knees to help centre his body's gravity. Though his legs quake at first, after a couple minutes the ride feels easier, and his stomach settles too.

"There, there," Flame says, patting him on the cheek. "You're so pathetic."

"Hey," Takeru mutters. "Stop with the patronising."

"If Mr. Playmaker hadn't said anything," Ai says, "then your sorry self would've still been curled up on that board making an absolute fool of yourself."

He knows it's too true, and Takeru bows his head in shame. Yuusaku doesn't say anything, but when he turns the next corner, it's not quite so sharp and jarring. The board continues to turn though, spiralling round and round a tall, narrow skyscraper. They rise all the way to the top and land on the empty roof. There isn't another building as tall as it in at least a mile or two in all directions, so they feel obscured out here.

Just as Takeru takes a breath, the ground beneath his feet, or the D-Board, fades away, and he crashes into the ground, managing to only tuck his knees in a bit so his shins hit the ground. He whines in pain, and raises his head up to Yuusaku, who once again has landed neatly on his feet. 

"Warning, please."

"Hm." He crosses his arms over his chest. Phoning the Red Duel King though ... that was a big move."

"Only an idiot like you would make a call like that," Ai says, giving him a thumbs up.

Takeru blushes and pulls his knees up to his chest. "Hey. And Yuusaku helped me with it too, so if you're gonna say that then we're both idiots."

"Fine by me," Ai says with a shrug. "You're all idiots then."

"Maybe the Red King is an idiot too," Flame says. "Who really thinks he's going to fly up into the sky all because we said so?"

"Well"—Yuusaku crosses his arms, and gazes out at the airship far off in the distance, further away than it should be—"the pilot is the Silver Duel King, who is a good friend of the Gold Duel King. While the Gold Duel King reigns over the ground and all matters concerning Link Vrains, the Silver Duel King attends to the skies and rarely concerns himself with mere affairs. But they're good friends. However, the  _ Fire Storm  _ is heavily protected by a firewall that even the best hackers of the Hanois can't break. There's no way they'll be able to access the internal workings of the system; at most, they might be able to track its location and route, but not the classified information hidden inside it—which means that if the Reds take the bait, they  _ will  _ charge after that airship and try to take control."

Takeru turns his head to the airship too. It seems so far out there that he can't believe a D-Board can even travel that far without running out of gas or breaking down. Even from this distance, the ship looks larger than life: a great, ballooned beast lurking through the skies.

"How'd you even fall from that?" Yuusaku asks.

Takeru's eyes widen. "Uh—"

"Like an angel from heaven," Flame says.

"No," Takeru says, cheeks burning. "No way. But ... I don't even know. How could I have survived that ..." He glances to Ai and Flame. "You saw—"

"Nuh uh," Ai says, shaking his head up and down. "We saw you crash through the roof all dazed and lightheaded and covered in starlight, but we never saw you fall through the air or anything. And no—" He glares at Yuusaku—"I did not erase that part of his or my memories."

"But I remember falling from that airship," Takeru says. He fell out the window specifically, and he hopes that the glass has been fixed by now. But he shakes his head before the thought plagues him further, and then, when he looks up at the sky again, he sees several small dots shooting off towards the airship. They look like birds at first, but then move together and appear far faster.

Ai whistles. "Look at 'em go."

The Hanois have taken to the skies. He can't tell specifically who they are, but it looks like the Duel King and his two subordinates, the same trio they met back at the stadium. Takeru swallows thickly. They narrowly avoided a blood-free confrontation with them last time—who's to say that this time won't end with someone else falling off the airship?

Yuusaku's D-Board materialises before them. He climbs on, and then motions for Takeru to board with him. Takeru gathers up his courage and stands on the board. His legs still feel like jelly from the last trip, and when they take off into the air, he nearly goes back down onto his belly. What keeps him upright is Yuusaku holding his shoulder just as he twists.

"Lean into the curves with me. I can't drive with you flapping around."

Takeru nods his head. When the next turn comes around, he holds his breath and leans his head to the side.

"Your weight," Yuusaku hisses.

"Right, right!" On the next turn, Takeru leans his body weight. The board shifts under his feet, and his stomach gives a violent flip. But he doesn't fall off the board, or even lose his balance. His feet stay planted on the board. A wave of joy washes over him—he did it! On the next turn, Takeru watches how far Yuusaku leans and mimics him. As they weave through the buildings and out towards the airship, he begins to feel at ease with the trip.

"How are we going to get up there undetected though?" Takeru asks.

Flame shakes his head. "You forgetting who you're talking to?"

"No, but the Red Duel King knows we have perception magic. He might even be on the lookout for us."

Takeru stares at Yuusaku's neck, hoping he'll turn around or at least voice his opinion; however, he doesn't say a word, driving low around the tops of the buildings to remain out of detection. Eventually though, they'll reach the end of the city and have to head up towards the endless sky surrounding Link Vrains, and out to where the little islands float. They'll have nothing to hide behind.

"What happens if we get caught?" he wonders.

"The Hanois take prisoners, or so I've heard." Flame rubs his chin, and a leering smile spreads out his face. "I've even heard that some of the clansmen there are quite familiar with various forms of torture—"

"I don't need to hear the rest, all right," Takeru says. "We don't want to get caught, I get it."

"Kinda feels like a suicide mission, now that I think about it." Ai grins at Takeru. "If you fell from that airship, who's to say that dude up there is friendly? Or that the Hanois won't try to push us off? How lucky are you to fall from the sky  _ twice?" _

Takeru swallows. He'd been under the impression that once they got on the blimp everything would be grand, but now that he thinks about it, perhaps this is a stupid plan only idiots would try. After all, the Knights of Hanoi heading towards the ship aren't the least bit friendly, and if the Silver Duel King has learnt that Takeru is the prime suspect for the Colourless Duel King, perhaps there'll be bloodshed aboard the ship.

"Hey ... Yuusaku?" Takeru peers through his bangs, even when Yuusaku doesn't turn his head. "If things go wrong ... will you help me out?"

Yuusaku doesn't reply.

"Hey—"

The rest of the words shoot out of Takeru's mouth as the board under his feet zips forward and arcs up towards the sky. Takeru lunges forward and grips onto Yuusaku's shoulder, who twists out of his grip with a snarl. On both of their shoulders, Ai and Flame crow in surprise. Unfortunately, as Takeru tries to hold onto Yuusaku, he feels the board start to veer left and right, far more zig-zagged than before.

"Let—go—"

"Yuusaku, we're falling—"

"I know!"

Takeru drops down to the board, but just as he feels his head drop, he sees three small specks hurrying towards them, with one speck just ahead of the rest. He narrows his eyes—and then gasps.

"Oh hey look!" Ai says. "The Hanois found us!"

Yuusaku twists the board up into the air, corkscrewing it through the clouds. Takeru snaps his hands on the underside of the D-Board and presses his cheek to it. Screw motion sickness—if he lets go he feels like he'll slip off the end and tumble to the ground ... and below him are the Hanois, now arching up towards him. Their boards seem faster too, or maybe Yuusaku is just slow—

"They're catching up! Move it, Mr. Playmaker!" Flame says.

_ We're going to get caught! _

Fortunately, the airship is closer to them. Just before they nosedive into its envelope, Yuusaku twists the board to the side and scales across its ballooned shape. Takeru squeezes his eyes closed and focuses on anything but the wind whipping past his ears. When they dart to the side, his eyes flicker open again. Ahead of them is something ... tall. Or taller, like a beam or antennae poking out of the airship. He squints to see just what is standing there when the beam  _ moves,  _ and not in a wind-blowing kind of way, but in a it's-alive kind of way.

"There's a guy there!" Flame says.

Takeru sees him too just before their board zips by him, but it's all he needs to see that there is someone  _ wearing his face and standing on the top of the airship.  _ The mysterious figure crows with glee, and snaps his fingers so that sparks dance through the air. His face rips at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes fizzle with fire.

"That's—"

"The Colourless Duel King!" the figure says, spreading his arms out wide. "You've come to greet me, haven't you? I've missed you terribly, wondering what you've been doing on that mortal plane. But come now, let's have you sparkle." The figure holds out both hands, and from between them bursts a flaming beam that snakes through the sky like a fiery-scaled serpent. The serpent arcs up through the air, spreading its blazing wings—only crash right down and through the centre of the airship.

Then the sky turns red and white, burning brighter than ever before. Takeru thinks he feels the D-Board move under his feet, but his mind goes blank before he can move out of the way.


	17. Daze

_"We now have a follow-up report on the crash of the ship, the Fire Storm. Yesterday, at approximately 18:60, several duelists on D-Boards engaged the airship owned by the wealthy Silver Duel King. However, the ship was brought to the ground in flames. Damage has been reported across several suburbs, including twelve serious injuries and five damaged houses. Furthermore, the duelists and the Silver Duel King himself have not ben located. An investigation both for the duelists and for the cause of the explosion to the aircraft is underway."_

Ryouken blinks as the TV turns off with a soft blip, and instead of the damage caused to Link Vrains, he sees his own, vacant face staring back at him. To his side, Spectre chuckles loudly and tosses the remote from hand to hand.

"Shit got serious out there."

"Indeed," Ryouken says through his teeth. He questions whether or not Spectre will give up the remote easily, and then sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. He doesn't need to see the results of the damage they caused. Honestly, Ryouken had wanted a peaceful meeting with the Colourless Duel King. He wanted to chat, and perhaps detain the murderer before he ran off. Instead, the Colourless Duel King and his friends ambushed them, and somehow the airship blew up in their faces.

He, Spectre, and Vyra had been blown away by the bomb, and nearly tumbled into a floating island before he could activate his Skill and push them along the Data Storm.  The wave had saved their lives and delivered them to safety, but when he'd looked back up at the black, smoky sight, he didn't see the Duel King anywhere—either of them, in fact.

He doesn't even need to see the news to know that no one has a lead on the whereabouts of either King, the Colourless or the Silver one. The searches have all been fruitless, and more effort has been placed on repairing damages to Link Vrains and reassuring duelists to not panic or log out.

His teeth sink into his lip. This was supposed to be peaceful, and now everyone's gone and blown themselves up.

Just as Ryouken opens his eyes, Vyra dashes around the corner, breathing heavily. She drops against the wall and places her hand over her chest. "Sir," she begins, sucking in a deep breath, "the Gold King—he sent his clansmen here to drop the search."

Ryouken wouldn't call what he's doing a search anymore. More like a manhunt for the most elusive boy he's even seen. But the mere mention of the Gold Duel King makes his lips curl back in distaste. The Gold Duel King runs Link Vrains; she's a mastermind through and through, and while he has no interest in siding with her, so long as she lives, Link Vrains is under her command. And if she declares that he must stop searching—well, he can only work undercover then.

"What?" Spectre says, hanging his jaw. "She's ruining all the fun."

"It's not our place to challenge her," Vyra says, but even she looks a bit pissed. She takes one more breath, and then turns to address Ryouken. "Sir, how should we proceed?"

"Directly," he says. "If she doesn't want us snooping around, then we'll go right to the source."

"Meaning ...?"

"I'll speak to her personally." He claps his hands together and stands. His boots squeak across the floor as he walks, and his white  uniform creases and bunches as he walks. He hasn't changed outfits since two days ago; he's hardly slept during that time either. While he won't show it to his subordinates, this investigation and hunt has worn him down. Even they look tired too: Vyra's eyes keep sliding closed as she tries to prop herself up against the wall, and Spectre is _too wide-eyed_ to be properly awake and well-rested.

His eyes slide to the stairwell leading down to the basement. He hasn't spoken with Akira since he got home from the explosion and went to feed him. He's barely picked at his food or moved from his bed, and by now his skin is so sallow that it looks translucent where his bones poke through.

 _He won't last another week,_ Ryouken thinks. He wonders if the Gold Duel King knows about Akira's capture, or if she cares. Is that perhaps why she's stopping him from pursuing the Colourless Duel King? It doesn't make much sense, but then again the Golds have their way of gathering information from private sources; information no one else would normally have. If she knows something, she could be the first and only person out there.

But fat chance she actually knows the true identity of the Colourless Duel King or else she'd be pursuing more targets.

"Sir?"

"You two go and get some rest," Ryouken says, shaking his head free of his thoughts.

With a sly grin, Spectre holds up a steaming mug of coffee. He takes a deep sip, and smiles over the rim.

 _"Rest,"_ Ryouken repeats. "Now."

Vyra bows her head and retires. Spectre remains to polish off the last of his coffee. He licks his lips when he's finished, and winks when he catches Ryouken's eyes on him. Ryouken looks away.

"There is no work for you right now, but when there is, I expect you to be awake and focused."

"When am I not?"

"Right now." Ryouken pushes him on the shoulder towards the bedrooms. There's a hallway just to the side of the stairwell leading into the basement, and down this hall Ryouken has fashioned several small rooms for him and his clansmen to sleep in. He rarely checks them out of fear that they will be even messier than the state of his living room.

Sighing, Spectre nods his head. He drags himself down the hallway and out of sight, and only when Ryouken is sure both of them are in their rooms does he let his shoulders droop forward and his head hang towards the ground. On his arm, his duel disk buzzes with an unread message from the Gold Duel King, no doubt about a meeting. He'll answer that in a moment. For now ...

He stifles a yawn behind his hand.

For now, he needs to find where Spectre hid that coffee.

* * *

"Hey, hey! Did you hear about that airship on the news? The big white one that went down in flames?"

"Airship? I heard that was a whale!"

"No, dummy! What kind of whale floats through the sky?"

"Like a whale-boat—"

"Again, it floats through the _sky."_

"Well then maybe there are sky-whales _and_ sea-whales."

Kiku covers her mouth as she giggles. All day she's been working hard setting up for the festival, but even she has to admit that her mind has wandered far too many times to the recent news of the fallen airship. It's been in the headlines of every newspaper and on the cover page of every website. The trending hashtag on social media is #WhiteWhaleDown, and the top videos include camera shots of the ship crashing into the suburbs.

Luckily, Den City High students were all on the island and far out of harm's way. However, many students have friends and family living on the mainland, and thus there are far fewer volunteers helping today because they returned home to be with their families after the tragedy.

Kiku sighs. Her parents live on a different island on Link Vrains, up above Den City and far enough away that an explosion here would never harm them. If they were here though, she isn't even sure she'd be able to abandon her post as head organiser of the festival. There's still so much to prepare for, and now far fewer hands to assist her with set-up.

"Kiku," a boy asks, waving his arms back and forth to gather her attention. "Did you hear the explosion last night?"

She shakes her head; she'd been fast asleep. However, when she sees that the boy's hands are empty, a smile flits across her face. "But I see you need work to do—come and help me carry these boxes to the dorms." She taps  several of them with her toes. As she glances over her shoulder, she spots Naoki wandering around the campus too.

"Naoki!"

He nearly leaps out of his skin and closes his duel disk. The look he gives her looks nothing short of suspicious.

Kiku purses her lips. What kind of suspicious stuff was he looking at on his duel disk? "Naoki," she says, "come help me carry these boxes."

"S-sure, Kiku," he says. He hurries over and scoops up the last of the boxes.

Kiku picks up her own share and then, once everyone looks ready, she calls out, "Follow me!" and leads the way to the dorms. As the festival draws nearer and nearer, supplies needs to be stored closer to the main courtyard and not leagues away at the edge of the campus. Thus, several empty dorm rooms have been used as short-term space for the supplies.

"Won't there be students living in there though?" Naoki asks.

Kiku shakes her head. "I don't think so," she says. "We might have to tidy up the place because some people don't look after themselves, but the rooms have been empty for a while now." She turns the corner and glances up to one of  the tall dorm buildings. It's her dorm building, in fact, but the room is further up. She leads Naoki and the other student to the elevator, where they cram in like sardines and ride up to the floor, and then they hustle out. The hallway is barely big enough for them to walk through with the boxes. When she sees the door, she fishes out her key, balancing the box against her hip and the wall.

The door clicks open.

There are ... shoes in the doorway. She steps over them and onto the genkan, and then up another step to the floor. The lights are all off, but the hazy shapes around the house look like clothes scattered round.

Behind her, Naoki says, "Someone leave her recently?"

"No," Kiku says. "Months ago."

But then this room just hasn't been cleaned in a long time. As they head past the kitchen, she sees dishes piled up by the sink. In the living room, there is a rice cooker on the table, and several sheets of note paper and homework scattered across the surface. The bed is all messy, the sheets tangled towards the end. The blinds are open, and the window too. She feels a breeze on her cheeks as she turns her head from side to side.

"You sure?" Naoki says. "Looks like someone took a snooze in here."

Kiku shakes her head. "I'm sure of it. That's why the school gave it to me to use for the festival: because no one else lives here."

"What about that guy who always sleeps on the job?"

She turns around. Who ...

"That lazy freeloader in our class, y'know the one."

Kiku nods her head, and opens her mouth, but then ... who? Who is Naoki talking about? The name eludes her, and when she tries to recall any detail about him—his name, age, face, favourite food—it all slips past her mind. Who was Naoki even talking about? Why did he sound familiar not ten seconds ago, but now every memory escapes her?

She glances to the little rice cooker on the desk. It's the same shape and model as the one she has at home, though recently she's been eating less rice and more vegetables, especially good vegetable starches. But there was someone in her class who ate only rice, she remembers, and once they brought their rice cooker to class. Someone used to only be able to cook rice, and they were a freeloader munching snacks off of everyone.

Naoki laughs out loud. "You even seen those cooking shows where the contestants have to cook under the strangest circumstances?"

Her smile widens, and she turns around and nods her head fervently. That's what she remembers! She watched a cooking show last night and all the contestants had to prepare food with Jack-O'-Lanterns on their heads, and one contestant even had to beat eggs with a baby rattle. It had been such a mess in that kitchen too, and by the time the episode was over, she'd laughed so hard she'd cried.

That must be what she remembers: mess and food.

* * *

Ryouken hates the Gold Duel King with a burning passion. She's the sort of lazy businesswoman like Akira who thinks lying around and letting others do the work can get the job done quicker. At one point, he even thought that Queen sided with Akira, but he's since realised that she sides with _no one_ and that everyone is her pawn. To her, the world is her chess board and she'll manipulate the pieces how she sees fit.

So Ryouken takes it upon himself to make the most ridiculous moves on his own before she can try to move him.

She lives in Den City, but deep in the depths of its core programming where no average citizens have dared to enter. This far down into the city, the air is chilly and frigid. The walls around him are silver, but in the meagre light the shadows creep across every surface. It looks more like a dungeon down here, certainly not the bright abode one would expect for a queen. But then again Queen is a different kind of person to begin with.

Kicking open the door, Ryouken strodes into the throne room. There's no throne in sight, but instead a large pool spanning across the floor and burrowing deep underground. The water shimmers blue, small ripples dancing across its surface from Queen's kicking feet. She sits at the edge of the pool, dressed in a bathing suit and a towel over her shoulders. When she spots him, she dips her head down and peers over the edges of her sunglasses.

"You came?"

"On short notice, yes." Ryouken claps his hands together and strodes across the room. He can't swim—just walk on water—so he stands back from the edge of the pool, and crosses his arms over his chest. Queen doesn't move from her spot either, but she turns to the side and peers over her shoulder.

"Hard at work, I see?"

"Always."

Queen doesn't return his smile. "Don't think I haven't seen you hacking across systems in Den City. I know what you're up to, Revolver, and it will not end well for you or the Reds."

"My duty is to the public," he says, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm looking out for the people of Den City who would rather not see Zaizen Akira drop his Dragon Sword on their heads and blow up the entire infrastructure. After all—"

"What is your business, Revolver?" Queen cuts him out, twisting her body round and swinging her legs out of the water. She's taller than him, built like a goddess with long, curved limbs. The softness ends at her face though: she has short, clipped hair cutting around a firm jaw and small, beady eyes. She pushes her sunglasses up to the top of her head, and tiredly tosses her bangs around. "I know you're not here to chat."

"Last night, my clansmen and I attempted to board the _Fire Storm_ aircraft to search for the Silver Duel King and learn some of the mystery surrounding him and the murderer of Bessho Ema. I believed that the strange path of that ship was related to the December 7 murder. However, before I could board the ship, it _exploded."_

"I saw the news," Queen says. She stands and sweeps past him, over to a long, narrow table covered with frosted glass. Several wine glasses rest upon it, and further down the table are plates of appetizers: fruit, vegetables, and small sandwiches. It looks set for a party, though Queen has never been one to entertain guests. She takes one in her hands and sips, and then glances over her shoulder. "And?"

"Something else fell from that ship." Ryouken strides towards her and plucks a glass from the table. He takes a deep sip. "A capsule, I believe. It was long and narrow, and though the glass was frosted at the top, I've no doubt what could have been inside it." His free hand drops down to the table, and beneath his palm the frost along the glass begins to melt. First a leg appears, then an arm.

Queen swallows thickly.

"The remains of the First Duel King ... right?" Ryouken taps the glass once more, and the final shards of ice melt. Beneath the surface lays a man with soft red and blue hair cupping a warm, pinkish face. He looks far too young to be the _First_ Duel King, but then again ...

"If I remember correctly," Ryouke says, dragging his fingers over the glass. "The Silver Duel King's powers were his invincibility. Thus, for an immortal Duel King to suddenly die is quite the surprise that has been hidden, don't you agree? And that not even you realised that—or if you did, that you failed to share this with anyone else." _Tap, tap._ "So many mysteries surrounding this death."

Queen's grip tightens around the wine glass. She nearly shatters the stem, and when she sets it down, the clink reverberates through the throne room.

"And?" She sticks out her chin. "Have you come to relay this information to me?"

"To examine the body."

Queen blinks. "W—"

"Right now."

The room _shakes._ It starts with trembles across the ground, like snakes moving under the tiles. The pool water jumps up and down, unsettled, and begins to flood its banks and soak the tile around the room. Then the walls quiver. Ryouken's eyes widen as he sees the ceiling begin to cave in. He sucks in a breath but does not step away. Queen wouldn't dare destroy her private abode; she's merely intimidating him. But he can't help but shake at the sight of her power.

A true queen indeed. As the founder of Link Vrains, and in a way its mother, she holds power over everything and everyone. No doubt intimidation comes with the package. Ryouken knows well that he's merely a pawn to her, or a rook at most. As a Duel King, he has power over the mundane and his own clansmen, but compared to another Duel King—and to Queen—he's a foot soldier forced to do her bidding.

"You _will not."_

"Never hurts to ask," Ryouken says, holding up his hands. His eyes slide down to the corpse beneath the glass—the gentle face, the relaxed features. How did this coffin not smash to pieces when it fell off the airship? And how did Queen get to it? Did she know that the Silver Duel King was dead all along, and thus didn't intervene because it felt less convenient?

By the way Queen glares at him, Ryouken knows better than to stir her up. He shoves his hands into his pockets and without another word wanders away. As he heads back, he waits for her to say something, maybe to get the last word in, but she remains silent even when he slams the door closed. He stands in the hallway, hands in tight, angry fists, still in his pockets.

"Fuck," he mutters.

Fuck, Queen knows something is up and is doing nothing about it. Fuck, Link Vrains' existence is at stake and the only people trying to do something about it are him; the Blues and their ill Duel King who might destroy this world; and a band of tricksters, one of whom might be the murderer of this whole mess.

Fuck it all.


	18. eluDe

Akira feels like he's been run over by a truck. Literally. The past month or so he's been feeling weaker, and since December 7 he's felt particularly crummy. But these last few days in captivity—in Ryouken's basement—have been the worst days of his life. At first, the idea of keeping himself away from the others seemed smart and strategic. That way, he'd kill two birds with one stone: save SOL Technologies from its downfall under his reign, and knock out Ryouken while he's at it. But if his Dragon Sword does drop, he doubts it'll even do much damage. After all, how much power can really be left in him?

Weakly, he coughs into his shoulder. He has no voice. His vision goes hazy from time to time, and he spends more hours asleep than awake. Ryouken has brought him food, but he's too weak to lift his head or swallow, and his stomach hurts. His powers are killing him from the inside out, like a computer virus toying with his internal programming. Eventually, he'll just shut down.

He hopes it happens soon. He'd like his death to be quick and painless, not this long, drawn-out struggle. It's even harder since he  _ knows  _ back at the company Aoi and Hayami are probably having a fit over his capture. He wouldn't be surprised if Aoi burned down half the city looking for him by now. She should know where he is too—it's not like he's all that hidden. But perhaps even she knows it's fruitless to go after him in the belly of the Hanois' base.

His eyes begin to roll closed, and he tucks his head into the curve of his elbow. He can feel his bones digging into his skull. He feels more like a skeleton than a fleshy human ... probably looks like one too.

"Hey."

His head tips forward. If Ryouken is here to chat, Akira could care less for it. He hardly has the energy to stay away, much less play head games.

"Hey, Akira."

His eyes widen. Ryouken only calls him by his last name. He twists his head up, but rather than the sight of his own clansmen, he sees a small, swirling vortex, like a fog-filled tornado. It spins round the empty, quiet cell, bouncing from wall to wall like a ping-pong ball. When it at last settles, it rolls across his sheets and over to his face.

"A-ki-ra," it singsongs.

He coughs at it. What is this creature? It's not the kind of pets Aoi keeps around, nor does it look like an ignis that he's seen from time to time in children's commercials. It doesn't even look like it belongs in this world—a white tornado. As it comes closer, it begins to flicker red. Electricity crackles within its centre.

"Are you wondering who I am?"

_ Pop! _

It is an ignis—a little, human-shaped creature with no mouth or nose, and with wide, pupil-less eyes. It has a curl atop its head, and swirled markings around its head and belly. This one is pure white and green, and when it smiles at him, he feels his blood grow cold. In the commercials, ignises are tricksters, like playful children playing harmless games. This ignis reminds him of a trickster god set on making mischief. Unfortunately, Akira has no energy for any games, and he closes his eyes as he suppresses a shiver.

"Hey, hey, wake up!" the ignis says. "Open your eyes!"

Akira squeezes them shut. As far as he was aware, Ryouken hated ignis and all they stood for. If this creature does belong to the Reds, then it must be one of Spectre's nasty pets. However, it seems as unlikely as the Reds letting him go, which means this creature snuck in.

"Don't you know who I am?" The ignis slaps his face with its mittened hands, and crows at him, "I'm your revenge! I'm your truth! Zaizen Akira, don't you know who I am?"

The ignis pulls open one of his eyelids and stares down at him. Though it has no mouth, the curves of its face are pulled into a sick smile. "I'm the reason your dear friend Bessho Ema is dead. Imagine that! Little ol' me snuffed out that woman. I didn't even think y'all would miss her that much—and yet—"

Akira rolls his eyes closed.

"Hey—hey, why are you closing your eyes? You don't believe me?" The ignis grabs both of his eyelids and rolls them open. Akira's eyesight blurs, but he doesn't fight it. "Well here, then let me lay it on thick. On December 7, I killed Bessho Ema. I bet she still had a long life to live, maybe even a fruitful life, though if she was with you then maybe not quite the best one. But still! Maybe it's better that she's in another place. How do you think she's doing too? Is she lonely all by herself? Maybe I should have killed some more of your friends so that she could have a whole party with her?"

Akira twists his head into his shoulder to sneeze, and the little ignis leaps up into the air, wiping itself down as if it had been infected.

"Hey!" it snaps. "Watch it! I didn't say I was going to kill you. I was thinking about the general citizens. What if I blew up this whole city? What would do you then?"

Akira turns his head into his shoulder once more to sneeze, and then drops his head down on its side. Gaze unfocused, he tries to imagine the hallucination above him as a product from lack of food and sleep. Why did it have to be so annoying though? He knows that ignises are creations of children's imaginations, but why did he have to think of one now?

"Akira, are you even paying attention to me?" the ignis says. "Like c'mon, give me a sign or something that you can even see or hear me."

The little creature waddles along his side and settles at the blankets by his face. It wrinkles its nose at him, and then claps its hands together. "Hey, if you want me to get personal, what if I offed some of your little friends? Ema's probably all alone in the afterlife, so she might appreciate some company. I'd start with Kusanagi first, and then those two girls—"

Akira's eyes widen. In a surge of newfound strength and energy, he shoot his arms out. He'll pop the head off this pesky ignis right now. But the little creature leaps through the air and floats just out of reach, chuckling so heartily that it rolls down onto its back. Its feet pinwheel through the air—then it stops and peeks over at him.

"Got you."

Before he can react, the ignis flies right for him. He expects to feel it hit his face, but instead the ignis passes  _ through him,  _ and he feels it nestle into his mind like an insect. Akira grabs his face even though he knows he can't reach it, but just as his hand settles over his cheek he feels himself ... stop. Then pause. He feels like he's awoken from a dream, and the sight of the cell room he's been in for days now looks new.

_ Oh,  _ Akira thinks.  _ So that's how you did it. _

He pushes the ignis right back out of his mind. It cartwheels through the air and crashes against the wall below; there's no dent or sound, but the ignis falls unceremoniously to the ground and stays down for a second longer. When it tries to get it, its little limbs shake. Meanwhile, Akira feels like he's restored his health and could run a mile. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. With a strong, determined pace, he crosses the room and drives the heel of his shoe down on the ignis.

It  _ howls,  _ the sound more reminiscent of a dying wolf than a cyber-creature. The screams bounce off the crowded cell room walls, and it only stops when Akira scoops up the ignis and slams it into his own head. He knows these creatures have cell memories too, and thus once the connection is formed, he feels his consciousness zip across the sky, out to the sea, to an island all by its lonesome self, to a dorm building—

"I've got you," Akira says, and he zaps the connection shut. He doesn't see it, but he feels it: the explosion all the way across the ocean. Whoever in that dorm room, he hopes they escape quickly, for he's spared them no mercy for all their troubles. The little ignis in his hand shakes and quivers, and then pops away before he can interrogate it further.

Akira shakes his hand out and runs his fingers through his hair. Though his legs feel like jelly and his lungs burn, his mind is bright and alive. Around him, the world seems bluer and brighter before. He crosses the rest of the room with ease, and snaps the coded lock off the cell door with practised ease. The door open, and Akira steps out into the hallway.

He doesn't remember the trip down here, but since there's only one way, he heads up the stairs and out into Ryouken's living room. To his surprise, none of the Hanois are home, though there space is a mess: clothes and blankets and wrappers everywhere, especially across one of the desks. There's a large screen with open documents concerning various organisations, including several notes about Den City High.

Akira clicks his tongue as he marches past the workstation. He doesn't need to see what mess the Reds have been up to. When he marches into Den City High, it won't be to "conduct an investigation." It'll be to slaughter the Colourless Duel King hiding out there and the little ignis under his control.

He bursts through the door and heads down the hill. The cool wind blows on his cheeks and tousles his matted hair. Even though his bones ache and every part of him hurts, the pain is an afterthought in his mind. He feels too alive as he heads down the hill. Behind him, he hears an alarm blaring, but he ignores it. Whatever it is, it won't affect—

"Got ya!"

Spectre comes flying into view on his board, coasting right past Akira and reaching out for his jackeet collar. Akira's eyes widen, but before Spectre can even dare to lay his hands on him, Akira shoves him away with a fist and knocks him down the hill. Spectre rolls like a ball down the road, legs curling over his head, uniform grazing the sidewalk. He catches himself after the third rotation and manages to twist himself back onto his board, but by that time Akira has hopped onto his own D-Board, materialised from his duel disk that he picked up on the way out. 

Spectre charges right back at him. "Where do you think you're going?" he shouts, cutting ahead of Akira to try and knock him off. Akira leaps up and zigzags his board around several trees by the road. He doesn't say a word, too worried that his voice will betray him, but his silence speaks volumes.

"Stop, Duel King Zaizen!"

Vyra drops her board against the back of his. His board shoots out from under him, and Akira nearly loses his balance as he struggles to regain his footing. Vyra stumbles too, but she rights herself quickly and shoots past him, trying to cut him off once more. Akira twists out of her way and heads down the hill. His eyes search the skies for Ryouken, but he doesn't see him anywhere in sight. Since when has Ryouken ever left Spectre and Vyra in charge?

Just as he straightens his board out at the bottom of the hill, Vyra twists into him once more. She reaches across and grabs his hand. Her grip is stronger than Spectre's, and when Akira shakes her off, her nails pierce his skin.

"Zaizen Akira, you do not have permission to leave. Stand down and return to your cell."

Akira raises an eyebrow and drives his board into her. This time, Vyra nearly stumbles off, but she clings to his arm and tries to pull him off his own board. Akira pulls back at the same time, driving his heels into the surface. He's not about to go back with her, not when the murderer is going after his family, not when the murderer isn't a Hanoi.

"Do not resist!" Vyra says. The nose of her board drops down onto his own D-Board, effectively slowing them down on the road. "If you do not listen, I'll stop you by force."

Akira blinks at her.

Vyra's teeth sink into her lip. "Very well."

He sees white in the corner of his eyes—a flash of a sword that slices through the air. Akir throws his head back before it clips his neck, and pushes Vyra away before she can lunge at him again. He doesn't give her a chance for that though; while she catches her balance, he snaps his fingers and blue fire erupts around them. Vyra's eyes widen, but then a flash of red appears—red fire—and Spectre lands before her.

"Zaizen—"

“Akira!" 

Akira twists his head to the side. Standing at the intersection of the road, not ten feet away from them, are his clansmen, his family. How they knew he broke free, Akira doesn't know, but he sees them and it warms his heart. Kusanagi throws up a hand and laughs outright. At his side, Hayami clasps her hands together and smiles at him. Aoi's eyes simply widen and fill with tears—and then she runs towards him to embrace him.

With a flick of his wrist, he pushes Spectre and Vyra away, knocking them to the fence alongside Stardust Road. He doesn't turn back to look at them; no, he keeps his gaze forward and his arms open as Aoi embraces him and buries her face into his chest. Akira feels his energy begin to sap as soon as the fight is over, but he holds himself up for his sister and cards his fingers through her hair. She looks more tired than when he last saw her. No doubt he's changed since she last saw him too.

"Akira," she says, over and over again into his suit jacket. "Akira."

He squeezes Aoi's shoulder and walks her back to the crowd. Hayami's eyes glow when he pats her on the head, and as he brings his hand down, Kusanagi clasps it tightly.

"You found a new lead?" he says.

Akira nods, and turns his head to muffle a short cough into his shoulder. All three of his clansmen's eyes widen, perhaps expecting him to croak over at any second, but Akira merely clears his throat and says, "Den City High."

"I was just there though," Aoi says, but then she chuckles and presses her face once more into his side. Akira hums under his breath, and pats her head. "One more look though," Aoi tells him. "Let's find the murderer."


	19. Detain

Kiku dashes across the courtyard and back towards the building. She doesn't even need to see the smoke; she can feel it on her clothes and taste it on her tongue. Already the sky above her head has begun to darken, growing more toxic and twisted. And she isn't even sure how it all happened. One minute she'd been standing at the entrance to the dorms, chatting with Naoki and pretending she wasn't also thinking about how she totally caught him watching Playmaker AMVs on his duel disk, and then the next minute there was a sudden, alarming crash as something  _ blew up  _ in the dorm building. 

No, not in the dorm building—in the empty room. She'd just been in there too putting away spare food that she now knows is charred to a crisp.

_ What am I going to tell Serena?  _ she thinks.  _ That a meteor fell from the sky and burnt up all the food I  _ just  _ put in that room? Or maybe it was a gas leak ... _

Behind her, Naoki huffs and pants. He'd wanted to go in and see the damage for himself, but Kiku knows this concern is out of anyone's hands. She'd pulled the outside fire alarm to alert everyone, and further back are the sounds of dozens of students running down the pathway and away from the burning dorm building.

_ How ...? How could that happen? _

Fortunately, she doesn't even have to run all the way into the school, or even through the security checkpoint. Serena stands out in the courtyard with her gaze turned up towards the sky, and she only looks down when Kiku waves her arms back and forth and nearly bowls her over. 

"Serena, Serena!" Kiku grabs her by the shoulders. "You—you saw—"

"Kiku," Serena says, pulling her arms away, only to place her own hands on Kiku's quivering shoulders. She appreciates the contact and melts towards the ground; Serena tightens her grip and holds her upright. Weakly, Kiku lifts her head. Serena looks worried—no surprise—but not panicked, and she purses her lips like she's deep in thought.

"The principal is already aware of the situation. It's a gas leak from one of the pipes; when it burst, the school was immediately notified."

"You—you knew—"

Serena nods her head. "The school fire team should be getting to the scene. I'm just glad to know you're all right." She glances over Kiku's shoulder to spot Naoki, but instead of offering him any comforting words, she simply nods her head once and then returns her gaze to Kiku. Kiku swallows under the stare. Thankfully, she doesn't have to explain what happened, but now she feels her heart race at the thought of all the supplies burning. Does she have to explain that too? And what will they do now?

"I don't think anyone was injured either."

Kiku nods head head up and down. Finding her voice, she murmurs, "I'm ... glad." She lets out a breath deep in her lungs, and then glances over her shoulder to see how Naoki is faring. When she last checked up on him back when the building had first begun to burn, he'd been screaming at the top of his lungs. She'd had to pull him away before he ran into the building. But when she turns around, her eyes follow the clouds up to something burning in the distance---not another building thankfully, but instead a long, narrow shape encircled by a burning ...

Kiku squints to see the details. A ... dragon?

_ Boom!  _ goes the ground beneath her feet. Kiku squeaks and leaps into the air, but as she jumps she sees the air around them crackle and fizzle with blue sparks. Energy, or coding, or what builds Link Vrains from the ground up. Kiku isn't a coder herself, but she's seen the coded infrastructure of this city. Normally though, it doesn't become visible unless programmers are chipping away at it, and she only knows of one such company ...

_ Boom! _

Through the dust emerge a group of blue-clad individuals: first a tall, slim man in a suit; then a girl with angel wings; another girl in a suit; and finally a man wearing an apron. They look like an eclectic bunch, but at once Kiku recognises the man's face. She's seen him in newspapers and talk shows before: Zaizen Akira of SOL Technologies. In those shows, he'd been a rather peaceful man—

_ Boom!  _ The ground around them bursts, clods of dirt and grass flying everywhere and exposing the delicate coding of Link Vrains. The ground evaporates before it can hit any of them, as the broken data can't exist outside of the Link Vrains infrastructure, but Kiku still squeaks and takes a step back. Who—who are these people? Enemies? She thought SOL Technologies were the good guys who helped ensure Link Vrains was a safe, habitable place for duelists alike.

_ What's going on ...? _ she wonders, but her mind spins too quickly for her to process the thought. At her side, Naoki looks petrified, short legs shaking, and his knees banging together. Serena looks the most composed of them, but even then she's taken a step back too and pulled Kiku with her. If Serena's nervous, then Kiku knows she has every right to be scared shitless. 

Yet as scared as she is, Kiku looks past the blue-clad people and to the bridge that they've blown up. The explosion caused the wires along the suspension bridge to collapse, and both pieces of the railing and the pathway have been cast away—but also on the bridge are people, clinging desperately to wires or on their hands and knees, looking for any way to escape. Her throat grows dry as the sight of them helplessly clinging for their lives.

"Serena, on the bridge—"

The rest of her words are drowned out by a second explosion, this time much closer to her and above her head. The checkpoint building—a stable, concrete tower—topples to the side like a children's toy, and the resulting crash shakes the ground beneath her feet. Kiku tumbles to her knees, sucking in a violent, painful breath. Can an explosion shake her very being like that?

When she dares to lift her head, she sees the leader in front of her. Zaizen Akira always looked like a stone-faced man on television, but before her he looks even more fearsome. Nothing could chip away at his expression. He swings a hand out again, and the building he'd just knocked down explodes again. The students, Kiku included, scream in fear.

And then over their collective screaming, a voice on a megaphone rings out: "Greetings, students of Den City High. My name is Blue Angel of SOL Technologies. Apologies for the intrusion and mess!"

It's the angel-winged girl. Now closer, Kiku can see her properly, and her eyes widen at how young the girl must be. She looks no older than Kiku herself, with blue hair pulled up in pigtails. She has on a blue dress, more like a costume with its wide tutu skirt and vest-top. In her other hand, she wields a magician's staff with a heart on the top. As she gazes around the crowd, she winks.

"Students of Den City High, you are in no danger so long as you comply with our requests. Us members of SOL Technologies are taking over your school. I repeat, we are taking over your school and you are not in any danger. Now ..." She turns to Akira and mumbles something into his ear, and when he answers her, she speaks back into the megaphone. "Please wait in your classrooms, OK? Thank you!"

Kiku's eyes widen. She—she recognise this girl from before! She was looking for a white-haired murderer, but she was injured then. She looks much better now, with only scratches on her arms and cheeks, and a couple bandages on her body.

Before she realises what she's done, Kiku shoots up her hand. "Excuse me, sorry! I know you!"

Aoi's head snaps around and her eyes narrow to thin slits. "What?"

"You ... you know me." Kiku pats her chest. "Are you still looking for that guy, perhaps? The murderer?"

Aoi gazes softens a touch, and for a moment she looks like a typical schoolgirl in a cute get-up. But then, when she glances to her side, her guards return, and she clasps the megaphone tightly, knuckles white. "Listen up, everyone. Kusanagi here is sending a video to your duel disks. We are here looking for a murderer, who we believe is your fellow student. If you recognise this student, or have any ideas about his whereabouts, please inform the nearest member of SOL Technologies immediately."

To her side, Serena flicks open her duel disk and narrows her eyes at the screen. It’s a hologram. Kiku sees it too. It's the same video Aoi showed her before, and that she's seen all around the city from the video leaks.

"This video?" Serena says, holding up her arm. "Isn't this just a prank?"

Someone else adds, "Are we supposed to recognise them?"

"Maybe it's a murderer from another city or dimension."

Kiku swallows thickly. She still doesn't recognise this person, but these SOL Technologies members don't look particularly keen on hearing that response. What will happen to them if they don't give an answer? Will they be sold away? Will they be hurt or tortured for information? No! SOL Technologies is a peaceful organisation, or so she thought. Why would they ...

Clearing her throat, Serena steps in front of her. Her presence alone collects and quietens the entire student population, and when she speaks, her strong voice rings out over the courtyard. "Before any of us make any movements, I want to make sure of something: if we comply with your demand to stay in our classrooms, will no harm come to us?"

Kusanagi nods his head, and Aoi bounces her head along too.

"And if we have no information concerning the person you are looking for, will no harm come to us?"

This time, the strangers hesitate. Kiku glances warily from student to SOL Technologies member.

"Yes," Kusanagi says at last. "Your name?"

"None of your business."

Kiku's blood runs cold. Serena isn't the most diplomatic of representatives, and her blunt ways only work among the student body that reveres her forwardness. Kusanagi's eyes widen, and Aoi's small face pinches tighter than a sewn-on button.

"Kiku," she interrupts. "My name is Kamishirakawa Kiku, and you can speak to me too ... please." She smiles at them, though the expression tears at her frozen cheeks. Fortunately, it seems to please them, for Kusanagi chuckles and rubs at his beard, and Aoi swings her wand round and round like a baton.

"Don't worry," Aoi says, swaying from side to side on her boots. "We'll be out of your hair in no time, and take care of our business in a timely and orderly manner."

To Aoi's side, Kusanagi pulls his lips back in a frown, an expression that Kiku doesn't miss. Yet she remains firm and strong. Now is not the time for her to be losing hope among the student body. Her and Serena represent the leaders of the school, and as such they must be the ones to stay strong for everyone else. At the same time, she's no police officer or knight. She can't save everyone if this courtyard becomes a battlefield. And how she can hope to help these people when she doesn't even recognise the person they're looking for?

* * *

"Our apologies, sir."

Spectre and Vyra both drop forward in low bows, nearly making a ninety-degree angle.

Ryouken raises both eyebrows high into his hairline. He's never seen them so servile and courteous before, and frankly he's concerned. Far, far worse crimes have been committed than their inability to stop Zaizen Akira from escaping, and yet the two of them seem ready to receive any punishment that he would give them ... which he's never done before. Physical punishment or torture are not his fortes despite their beliefs.

It's Spectre who rises first, sheepishly shoving his hands into his pockets and bouncing from foot to foot. He refuses to meet Ryouken's gaze, and though over time his expression returns to its usual, snarky, twisted grin, he still seems cowed. Vyra doesn't even raise herself, head dipped low, body parallel to the dusty ground around them. They wrecked the driveway up to the oceanside house; that, Ryouken can at least be upset about.

"The Blue Duel King escaping, and the calamity of this place ... it's our fault, sir."

"Do you intend to take all the blame of the world upon your shoulders?"

"If I must."

"That was a joke, Vyra."

She lifts her head, just enough so that, beneath her red bangs, Ryouken can see her teary eyes. She's not crying, but seems ready to if the situation calls for it.

"Your failure was not in being unable to stop the Duel King, nor was in it wrecking my driveway ... though I do wish you would take better care of this house. The both of you, that is. But no, your failure was in recklessly trying to stop him. If you had any self-preservation, you would have stepped back and contacted me—"

"And you would have stopped it?" Spectre crosses his arms.

"Spectre!" Vyra hisses.

"No," Ryouken says with a shrug, "but if you contacted me, you would not have attacked Zaizen and put yourselves in harm's way. I nearly lost my two best assistants ... my  _ only  _ assistants. That is a far greater loss than losing Zaizen Akira. How would I have moved forward on my own? How would the Hanois be able to take care of the Colourless Duel King if two of you foolishly risked your lives?"

Again, Vyra drops down into a bow. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I don't want your apology," he says, and though Ryouken feels fire burning in his chest, he surprises himself when his words come out softer than fur. "I want you to value your lives. The Knights of Hanoi cannot exist without dedicated members, and I highly doubt I'll come across anyone as passionate and loyal as you two."

Spectre's grin splits across his face. "Are you—"

"Yes." Ryouken cuts off the final words. He clears his throat, and then says, "Now, the matter at hand: Zaizen Akira and SOL Technologies have taken hostage Den City High School. They are surely after the identification and capture of the Colourless Duel King, who they believe is a student hiding among the ranks. They have not given up on their quest to find the murderer of Bessho Ema. Where they have garnered information about the whereabouts of the murderer, I do not know. However, it is the only reason why they would act so rashly and lock down an entire school."

"Or Zaizen's just snapped," Spectre says with a shrug. "Got helpless."

"Perhaps," Ryouken says, "but unlikely. Zaizen is calculated about such tasks. However ... he is reckless with information."

Raising up from her bow, Vyra asks, "Dangerous, sir?"

"Very much." His lips curl back like he's bitten into a lemon. "If the Colourless Duel King is among the student ranks, then no doubt Zaizen's arrival will propose a wonderful opportunity for the murderer to make mischief. The last time I saw Zaizen, he was nearing the end of his life. If the Colourless Duel King triggers Zaizen Akira, he could drop his Dragon Sword down on the entire school."

"So you want to beat the murderer to it?" Spectre says.

"Subdue the Blue Duel King," Vyra says with a nod.

"Correct." Ryouken clasps his hands behind his back and gazes out to the school. "But if we head to that island, we'll only be playing into the Colourless Duel King's hands. After all, if he's taking down Duel Kings, why not destroy both of us and finish the battle between the Reds and Blues—"

"But sir—"

"Vyra."

She blinks as if stunned. "Y-yes, sir?"

"I have a favour to ask of you ... a selfish favour."

"Oh  _ ho,  _ someone's in trouble—”

"Not that," Ryouken says, and he can't help but let his lips quirk up a bit—after he glares at Spectre so it shuts him up for another minute, that is. Vyra keeps on staring at him as if he's grown a second head, and seeing as how she won't speak up, Ryouken continues: "A small favour before we begin this mission. You see ..."


	20. conceDe

"A favour from Miss Vyra? Well aren't I a lucky guy?"

Kusangi pulls the phone away from his ear before Vyra's sharp retort turns him deaf. He keeps on chuckling, only furthering her complaining, and when at last she settles, Kusanagi returns the phone to his hear. "I'd never be able to turn down a request from you, and how thoughtful of you to think of me. Yes, yes, I'll do it. Talk to you later."

He ends the call before she can snap back at him, and pockets his phone deep into his apron. Evening has fallen on the campus, and all of the students are in their rooms under lock and key. So far none of them have tried to escape, but none have also stepped forth with any information about the Colourless Duel King. Kusanagi won't doubt Akira's plan quite yet, not as long as he wants to continue breathing, but he does wonder how everyone else is faring.

Atop the building, he's by himself. He can see as far and wide as the darkness stretches around the courtyard, with only the meagre, artificial lights of the lamps to guide him. But it's not quiet, not with Aoi standing guard at the bottom of the building and pacing to and fro like a caged beast. Her footsteps are heavy and slick, and she keeps on crunching dried leaves or candy wrappers.

Eventually, Kusanagi grows tired of hearing her pace and whistles loudly. Quick as a flash, Aoi springs from the ground up to him, and clears the building in a single leap. She lands before him, eyes wide, weapon drawn.

Kusanagi flaps a hand to calm her. "Chill—"

"That's our secret call, Kusanagi!" she huffs. "Don't use it to call me like some puppy!"

"Obedient, at least—"

"Hey!"

"Fine, fine," he says. "Calm down, Aoi. How are things down there?"

"Boring."

"Well, then all is quiet on the campus. Besides ..." He glances out over the building once more, and to where the light pools at the epicentre of the fallen bridge. It's broken right through the middle too, and the lights on either side shine a horrid spotlight on the disaster. "If the murderer is on this island, there's no way he'll get away on that bridge."

"How about a D-Board?" Aoi says.

"You think one of us won't see someone sneaking off beforehand? Or that Akira doesn't have someone watching down there?" He chuckles, the sound rich and deep. "Don't worry. No one's getting off this island until we say so."

It softens Aoi's smile, and she grins up at him. The spark has returned to her eyes once more.

"Stay up here though," Kusanagi says. "I have something I need to do first."

Aoi's guards jump right up, and she tightens her grip on her wand. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"Chill. I just need to relay a message to Akira, nothing more. And no, before you ask, you cannot come along. You need to stay here and watch for stray students. Stand up here, watch the lights, and make sure no one's sneaking out. You do that, and you'll be a big help to everyone. All right?"

She doesn't look pleased by the idea, but she still nods her head and takes up his post. Kusanagi rolls his shoulders and heads off to the side of the building. He doesn't have his own D-Board, so he has to take the stairs down, weaving through the building. It's been so long since he's gone to school that the sight of lockers and classrooms brings a small, reminiscent smile to his face. He went to a much smaller, local place than this prestigious private school, but walking through the hallways reminds him of his early days.

Outside, the lights guide him down the courtyard and back towards the docks. This campus is huge, with various fields and buildings. The further he heads out of the main campus, the quieter and more rustic it becomes. There's a little garden or forest here—he's not sure which one—with small trees and a variety of shrubs. Potted plants peek out of wooden barrels, and clustered together are a group of spectre-white greenhouses that must supply the school with some fresh produce. Pas the forest and garden, Kusanagi blinks as he spots the water. He thought he was still leagues away from the sea, but before him stretches a great, inky expanse of midnight-blue, dotted with the barest hints of starlight.

There are ruins out here too, made of chipped stone, and some breaking off at the edge of the cliff. Seated atop one is Akira. Were Kusanagi not specifically looking for him, he would have glanced over him: Akira is thinner than a twig, blending into the world like the sky has folded over him. His shoulder shake with suppressed coughs; he seems to be trying to remain still for Hayami, who leans against him with her head on his shoulder.

When he approaches, Hayami turns around and smiles at him. Akira doesn't turn, but he says, in a voice ripped to shreds, "Have you left your post?"

"Aoi's covering for me," Kusanagi says. He shoves his hands into the pocket of his apron, and steps around the fallen ruins to see Akira properly. In the weak light, he looks like a haunted zombie: eyebags darker than the night and deeper than the sea; skin pale and sallow; features pinched; sweat glistening across his forehead. "And I see you're up to hard work?"

"When you are a Duel King ... this is what you do."

"Really."

Hayami frowns at him. "He's been working hard—"

"I can tell."

"—and so far, things are going well."

"They're not going anywhere." He shrugs. "There's been no sign of the Colourless Duel King anywhere on campus, and no students are acting suspiciously beyond mild panic over our takeover of their campus. Sounds like a pretty quiet night for us."

Akira doesn't say anything for a moment, and then tucks his face into his shoulder and coughs like he's choking on his own soul. His face twists in pain, and when he at last catches his breath, he spits. As if it had never happened, he turns to Kusanagi. "Have you come to report this then?"

"Nah, I've got better news." Kusanagi hops up on the stone and settles down next to Hayami, who pulls herself closer to Akira. "You've got a visitor waiting for you, someone itching to talk to you. He'll be waiting for you at the shrine behind the main building. You know your way around here, correct?" A pause. "Thought so."

Without a word, Akira closes his eyes and turns himself around to step down from his seat. When his feet touch the floor, he stumbles for a moment, and his sharp gasp echoes in the empty space. Hayami stretches out and grabs his shoulder before he can tumble, but she fixes her gaze at Kusanagi.

"What does that mean?"

"Akira knows."

Weakly, Akira brushes off Hayami's hands. "It's ... fine. I'm going." Which he does, albeit with slow, agonising steps. He looks ready to collapse at any moment, but Kusanagi knows better than to coddle a Duel King, much less Zaizen Akira ... not that he'd even want to in the first place. He and Akira see eye to eye most of the time. But their camaraderie is a business relationship, whereas with Hayami it's a personal investment. But even she sits on the fallen rocks, wriggling as if she wants to get up and rush to his aid, but ultimately staying still and watching him go.

Kusanagi turns to Hayami and beckons her over. "Come on."

"Where ..."

"We'll go back together. It's no good if you're here by yourself, and it'll be better if we stick together."

"But Mr. Zaizen is ..."

"He'll be fine," Kusanagi says, and his words seem to spark something in Akira. He doesn't say anything in return, but the nod of his head as he walks away appears too deliberate. "He'll be fine," Kusanagi says again, and this time he leads Hayami away by the shoulder, back towards the school. Together, they pass by the gardens decorated with flowers, and across the courtyard as quiet as a graveyard. When he stretches his gaze up to the sky, the stars seem brighter, and the nighttime tinged blue.

Blue, like Akira. Like SOL Technologies. Like the power within them.

"He'll be OK, right?" Hayami asks.

"He'll be in good spirits," Kusanagi says. After all, Akira has made sure time and time again to protect them, ill or not. His business composure is a facade for the public to stay away from him and not interfere with SOL Technologies' business. If anyone ever knew that the company had weekly parties and was funded by a hotdog and coffee company, and that the main members of the company were a ragtag gang of misfits, they'd probably choke on their fancy thoughts.

_ It was even louder when Ema was around ... _

Hayami reaches out and takes his hand in her own. "You promise, Mr. Kusanagi?"

Kusanagi doesn't hear her. His mind is too clear of another thought, something he wishes he said back then to Akira. It's the sort of thought that only appears after it's too late, and it burns the tip of his tongue like a singed ember.

_ You're the best Duel King we could have ever asked for. _

Did Ema ever say it? Or Aoi? Or Hayami? He'll never know. Perhaps they've all had their own way of sharing their appreciation with Akira. But as Kusanagi leads Hayami back to the school and away from Akira, his body feels like a heavy corpse, and he wishes he could spin around, turn back time, and tell Akira something to honour those last moments. For Kusanagi knows that those moments out by the water were his last memories of Zaizen Akira.

* * *

It's been less than twenty-four hours since Ryouken has last seen Akira, and yet he looks even worse. He comes stumbling up the steps to the shrine, cast in an ugly, artificial glow that only accentuates his plague and demise. With each step he takes, his breath wheezes and rattles in his throat. And yet, when he makes it to the top and stands next to Ryouken, instead of grumbling or growling, or even fighting him, he holds out his hand.

Ryouken raises an eyebrow.

"Smoke."

Ryouken still doesn't understand, until he remembers the cigarette between his teeth. He doesn't smoke often, just to cut away the edge of anxiety, but he rolls the cigarette across his lips. When he looks down at Akira, it's with a wide-eyed stare as if he's grown a second head.

"I'm already dying," Akira says. The words sound equally chilling from a voice that's lost all its bite. Nonetheless, Ryouken reaches into his pocket, extracts the package, and shakes it open for Akira. Akira takes once between his fingers, but he doesn't even get it to his lips before his wretched, body-convulsing coughing begins, and he spits to the side.

Ryouken says nothing as Akira turns back to him, cigarette between his cracked lips, and leans in so that Ryouken can light it with a flick of his fingers. Akira takes a deep drag, coughing once more, but surprisingly after the third puff he settles back. He still looks like a walking skeleton with one foot in the grave, but for the first time in a while, a peaceful expression settles on his face.

"You shared nothing of our meeting with your subordinates, I can presume?"

"Yes," Akira says.

"Good." Ryouken sucks in a breath, then blows out. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches Akira do the same, but he can barely get a breath in without choking on the fumes. Without their powers activated, their Dragon Swords haven't appeared, but Ryouken can reckon that Akira's is ready to fall any minute now. It must be so chipped and broken, equivalent to the sight of his weary, destructed soul. How he's still standing is a medical miracle.

And yet, as much as Ryouken wants this to end, peace seems to wash over him too. Akira can't and won't attack him. Neither SOL Technologies nor the Hanois stand a chance of fighting each other in battle, not with the threat of the Colourless Duel King looming over their heads. And so here they stand, peaceful enemies, opposed in every opinion but one: to bring the Colourless Duel King to his death.

"Why are you here?"

Akira raises an eyebrow. "I should ask you ... the same."

Ryouken brushes it off though. "From what I can see, you and your clansmen have gathered here in the hopes of capturing Bessho's murderer. You seem to think he's on the island, and I have no doubt that some of your theories are correct. However, do you truly believe any of your followers are capable of capturing a Duel King? Are you using your own clansmen to lure out the Duel King? And then what? Will you fight him?"

Akira shrugs his shoulders, and turns his head to draw in another drag, only to start coughing again.

Ryouken turns himself towards Akira, so that when he looks back, they're eye to eye and in true opposition. "Your Skill is already at its limit. Your powers are weakening, and you are losing your grip on your Dragon Sword. If you are not killed in battle by the Colourless Duel King, then you will fall after you slay him, when the strain of killing a fellow King will prove too great, and you will drop your Dragon Sword on all of our heads. Have you thought that through, Zaizen Akira? Sure, you may see the lives of these students as expendable in the grand scheme of things, and I would not fault you for it ... but will you kill your own clansmen too? You cannot save them if you have brought them here."

Akira keeps on smoking. 

Ryouken clenches his hands in tight fists. He knew Akira to be a cold-hearted businessman, but not to be so callous and selfish as to curse the Blues.

"You'll hurt your own people in this petty revenge quest? What kind of revenge even is that? One where the casualties of your own people exceeds the death of the singular murderer sounds like a piss-poor plan, and I know you to be a better strategist than that. And do you think I'll let that happen? My own people are on this island too. I told you before, I won't let another Sword fall. The peace of Link Vrains is too ...

"Do you think I'll allow this to continue?"

Akira's head turns towards him, slowly, like the creaking gears of a long-since-broken machine. He blinks once and takes a drag from his cigarette, raising a hand to his lips to muffle the resulting coughs. When he lowers it, he's smiling—a painful smile sliced into his sickly skin.

Ryouken swallows. Blinks. He opens his mouth to say "no," to tell Akira that he won't stand by and let this continue, but he feels himself grow weak. No. No, that's what Akira wants. That's was his plan, his strategy ...

"Don't tell me ..."

Akira shrugs his shoulders, smile more haunting than any expression Spectre has ever pulled on him.

"Don't fucking tell me you want me to kill you?"

Ryouken spits the words out, and to his surprise, he sprays Akira's pained face. He doesn't care; he steps forward, jabbing a hand into Akira's ribs, and says, "I'm not cleaning up after your mess, and I'm not finishing this for you.  This is your final warning."

"Or what?"

Flames burst beneath Ryouken's feet, and he slides his hand down his hip and to his revolver. "Release the students here and leave this island at once. Business is complete."

Not waiting for Akira to answer, Ryouken descends down the steps. They feel slippery under his feet, and the flames lick at the smooth rock path. He doesn't hear Akira move, and when he glances back over his shoulder, Akira leans against the post holding up the roof of the shrine, arms crossed over his chest. He looks far too smug, outweighing the obvious signs of his illness.

"Revolver." He rolls the name off his lips, and holds out a hand. "Another smoke please."

With a fierce growl, Ryouken jams a hand into his pocket and throw the cigarette pack up the stairs and at Akira's feet. Not waiting for him to ask for a match or a light, he stomps back down the stairs and heads under the thick, shady trees. The darkness swallows him up like a great, hungry beast, and Ryouken shivers at the growing chill, even though his soul feels like it's on fire.

_ What an idiot,  _ he thinks.  _ What a clueless, selfish idiot. _


	21. Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i missed an update, sorry! life has been really busy because i'm moving halfway across the world. not for the next chapter, but the one after (chapter 23), i'll be posting it on Sunday night because i leave early Monday morning and won't have a chance to post on time. thanks for understanding! <33

Takeru knows about the ignis' perception warping abilities. He's seen it in action and used their powers before, and he's even had someone walk through him. But while that seemed fairly normal, it was because the perception existed outside of him. When Ai and Flame use their powers on hips body, turning him into a small, round ball, his throat closes tightly and he nearly drops to the ground. He's—he's no longer human! Or is he? He truly can't tell, not in this strange, spherical form.

Next to him bobs Yuusaku, also in ball formation. Even without eyes, nose, or mouth, he looks nonplussed by this transformation.

"Well?"

"Now we can head back to Takeru's," Flame says. "Act normally and float though. We're only distorting the image of your body, so if you start screaming and acting like an idiot, then people are going to know something's up."

"When would anyone ever act like that?" Takeru mutters under his breath.

"You never know."

Without another word, the four of them leap up into the sky. It doesn't make sense to Takeru why they can fly, as that's not warping perception so much as giving humans magical powers, but he doesn't open his mouth when the four of them shoot forward and through the city. He feels like he's on a roller coasting, sliding in between building and leaping over their tall peaks. Once they're out of the thicket of the city, they burst through the boardwalk and then out onto the water. Weakly, he looks down at the dark water. With the sun long since disappeared, and the moon hanging over their heads, his ghostly shadow stares back at him.

But up ahead, the school glows brightly. All the windows in the buildings are dark, but the lights around the paths emit a yellowy, artificial light that forces Takeru to squint. The further out from the city they travel, the quieter the world becomes. It almost seems too quiet—shouldn't Kiku and the other students still be out preparing for the festival? Normally, those days have extended well into the after-sunlight hours. But as he passes over the courtyard, he sees just a few people milling about.

_ Everyone's already in bed?  _ he wonders.

Before he can answer his own question, Ai and Flame shoot forward, dragging him and Yuusaku along. They move at the speed of a rocket, faster than they even travelled across the water. Takeru squeezes his eyes closed and braces himself for when he inevitably hits a wall or the ground, but instead, after a few seconds, he slows down to a halt ... somewhere. Around him, all he can hear are the heavy, panting breaths of the ignises and Yuusaku.

"Did we make it back ...?" Takeru asks.

"Open your eyes," Yuusaku says, at the same time as Ai and Flame both cry, "Our house!"

Takeru snaps his eyes open. Wherever he's stumbled into can't be his house ... can it? It's barren without his bed, desk, bookshelf, and table, and he can see  _ through  _ his wall—or what remains of it—and into his singed kitchen. There are burn marks on every remaining surface, and the heat seems to have cut into the carpet beneath his feet and the wallpaper along the remaining walls. Surprisingly, the wall with the window is intact, and the front door is untouched, but the living room is wholly destroyed.

_ The bloody shirt!  _ Takeru twists his head around, but his armoire has long since been demolished in whatever happened, and all that remains are some charcoal-like imprints on the ground and wall marking where it once stood.

"What'd you  _ do?"  _ Ai says, clapping his hands to his face and dropping open his mouth.

"Did a  _ bomb  _ go off in here or something?" Flame says.

"How—" Takeru begins, but Yuusaku cuts him off.

"I suspect the Blues were here."

Takeru blinks. "The ... Blues? You mean SOL Technologies?"

"Did you not see them when we flew over the island? There were at least two of them down on the ground."

Takeru shakes his head, and then rubs at his windswept hair. "I, um, may have had my eyes closed for some parts of the flight."

Yuusaku sighs but doesn't comment on it. He paces around the room, hands behind his back, and inspects the walls and remaining belongings. Takeru tries not to flinch every time he hears the floor creak and groan under Yuusaku's weight. Should they even be in this house? What if the flooring snaps and they fall? What if the walls cave in and they become buried under the rubble? No one even knows that they've returned to campus yet.

Ai hops along the ground and whistles through his teeth. "Someone really wants to see you dead," he tells Takeru.

"Thanks."

"But"—Flame holds up a finger—"how would they know Takeru was home? Did they just guess and blow up his room? Why launch a bomb here if they knew he was elsewhere? My guess is that someone else was here and they got blown up."

Takeru swallows. "You mean ... there's a corpse here?"

"No." Yuusaku turns on his heel and places his hands on his hips, looking far too much like a mother scolding a child. "There are no corpses here, and we have no information to prove anyone was hunting Takeru here with a bomb. However ..." His sharp teeth sink into his lip. "If SOL Technologies is on the island, no doubt they are looking for Takeru too. If the Hanois come, this will be a battlefield over your capture. We probably shouldn't have returned here, not when the situation is already so tense."

"But ... but this is our home," Ai says.

"And where else are we supposed to go?" Flame says. "It's not like Takeru isn't a wanted suspect in all of Link Vrains."

"Plus ..." Takeru claps his hands together, and holds them up to his thumping heart. "My friends are on this island too: Kiku, and even Naoki. If ... if SOL Tech and the Hanois are here, and they're waging a war ... This—this is no place for that!" He takes a strong step forward, and looks out the window at the dark courtyard. "Where even are the students? No one's in this building, probably because of the explosion, so where are they hiding?"

"In another dorm room or classroom, I'd imagine," Yuusaku says. "I doubt they're using your classmates as bait for you to come. They probably don't even know for sure if you go here."

"We'll they know something about here," Takeru says, "or else they wouldn't have come and put the school in lockdown." He chews on his lip, and wanders out of the living room and to the kitchen. There are no clues from anyone, or top-secret notes about further instruction from one of the Duel Kings. Despite the charred marks and obvious signs of an explosion, nothing sticks out as out-of-the-ordinary. The flat looks just like how he left it when he went to school that morning. 

Yuusaku steps out from around the corner and leans against a singed doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "We should get out of here—"

"No. I'm not leaving my friends."

"And you have a plan to save them?" Yuusaku rolls his eyes. "Do you have any experience meeting the Duel Kings?"

"Sure I do—"

_ "Positive _ experience. The last time we met Revolver, he tried to kill us. And the only reason why we escaped is because you pulled a stupid stunt that proved yourself as the Colourless Duel King, and is a stunt you  _ will not  _ be repeating. Now we will most likely be meeting both the Red and Blue Duel King. Do you have any strategy for that?"

"Sure do!" Takeru says, clapping his hands together. "We'll find both of them on this island and ask them to stop fighting with each other."

Yuusaku's eyes widen, but it's Ai who speaks up first—or who bursts out laughing, clenching his belly as he somersaults through the air. Flame starts laughing too, a deeper, richer sound, and he slaps Takeru's cheek as he tries to get a hold of himself. Yuusaku doesn't laugh. His eyes just widen, pupils stretching out like eclipsed moons, and his mouth hangs open.

"What?" Takeru says.

"Do you not remember the last times you met the Duel Kings?"

"And this time will be different," Takeru says.

"H-how?" Ai gasps between chortles.

"Or—or maybe it'll be like when we met the Silver Duel King and y'know we  _ fell from the D-Board and miraculously you landed on a truck and weren't hurt." _

Takeru feels his own heart begin to race. "No—"

"Speaking of that." Yuusaku cuts him off with a sharp cough, and immediately sobers. "How did that happen, Takeru?"

"Yeah," Flame adds. "We were all clinging to the D-Board and spinning in circles, and you slipped off like the dolt you are ... but then you landed on a truck and lived."

Takeru shrugs his shoulders, and dips his head down to avoid Yuusaku, Ai, and Flame's gasps. He's not quite sure either. He remembers clinging to the D-Board as it spun in vicious, tilt-a-whirl circles in the smoky sky. Then his fingers slipped off the side of the board, and before Yuusaku could snatch his hand, Takeru fell through the air, flipping and spinning. At the time, the sensation of falling didn't scare him; he remembers falling sometime in the past. But when he landed, he felt ... fine. Better than fine even. He was out of danger and lying across a metal truck, and none of his bones or internal organs were damaged. When Yuusaku, Ai, and Flame came down to see him, their faces paler than milk, they all gasped at the sight of him lying in the dent of the truck.

"I dunno," Takeru says.

"Homura Takeru." Yuusaku growls out the words, and pushes himself off of the doorframe. "No human can fall from the sky, at least a hundred feet up, land on a metal truck, and suffer no injuries. There is something else at work here."

"Maybe he's a zombie," Ai says.

"Or a cyborg," Flame says.

"Quiet." Yuusaku taps a finger to his cheek, and bends down to see eye-to-eye to takeru. Takeru feels his cheeks begin to warm—is he being examined? Meeting Yuusaku's eyes feels too personal, and while he knows that Yuusaku is thinking of nothing but the medical mystery, it doesn't help that his gaze is so thorough. Takeru shivers and pushes himself back against the wall. He raises his hands up to his chest, and when Yuusaku leans closer, he lets out a stunted cough.

"What are you ..."

"What are you, Homura Takeru?"

Takeru blinks. "What ... am I?" He rests a hand against his chest. His strong, albeit battering, heart is there. And he can feel his pulse too. He must be a human, not a zombie or cyborg or something else like the ignises' suggested. And if he was different, how would he know any different? Would that be something hidden away in his memories? Did the ignises erase those memories too? Takeru wracks his brain for any clues, but in the end, he looks back up at Yuusaku and smiles.

"Guess I'm just a really durable person."

_ Clink!  _ Yuusaku swings Decode Talker towards him, but rather than stick it under Takeru's chin, he presses the tip of it to Takeru's chest, right over his beating heart.

"Answer seriously."

"I am!" Takeru grabs the blade, careful to hold his hand in a large arc so as to not cut himself. He doesn't push it away, but instead holds it near his own heart. "I really, truly don't know how that happened, Yuusaku. Promise. But maybe, as the ignises said, there is something magical about me. And it's not a bad idea to approach the Duel Kings now. In the past, we approached Ryouken alone, and it meant that he thought he could just kill me before anyone else had the chance. But now the Kings are fighting amongst each other, and they're probably both on the island. I bet we have a better chance talking to them together than separately."

Yuusaku doesn't budge. "You truly think they'll listen to you if you offer yourself up as bait?"

"Not as bait," Takeru says, "but as a peaceful messenger. Just like you, I want Link Vrains to remain a happy, peaceful place for all duelists, and that can't be achieved if we keep launching attack at each other. It just won't work. So let's get in touch with the Blue Duel King and see what he's up to."

This time, Yuusaku doesn't say anything.

Takeru reaches out and touches Yuusaku's rustic duel disk. "Or we can ask that creepy haiku thing of yours to give us the final verdict."

Yuusaku's cheeks glow pink, and in one fluid motion he sheathes his sword and turns away. "There is no need for any more reasons, or to seek outside opinions. It makes sense that you want to save your school and friends when they are in trouble, and and you don't want to cause further damage. So." He peers over his shoulder with one glassy, green eye. "Shall we go?"

Rubbing the spot where the sword had been, Takeru stands with renewed strength. Flame hops back onto his shoulder, and Ai whizzes through the air and lands in Yuusaku's dark blue hair. Quickly, Yuusaku plucks him off and sets him down on his shoulder.

"I'm not saying we should wander around as ourselves though, as that's just asking to be sliced and diced. Ai, Flame, Yuusaku and I need your perception distortion powers to make this plan a success. We'll head out through the campus undercover and gather intelligence, and then we'll make our meeting with the Kings. We should also check up on the students to make sure everyone is safe, and maybe gather a bit of information on the other Blues too." Takeru names off the plans as he heads out of his dorm room and down the quiet, empty hallway. In his hazy memories, he remembers this hallway being equally quiet except for that time Kiku stopped by with breakfast for him and Yuusaku.

_ I wonder where Kiku is. Would she be in her dorm room, or hiding in a classroom somewhere? No doubt she made sure everyone else was safe before her. _

Out in the hallway, Takeru's room doesn't even look like a bomb went off in it. The front door is unscathed, and there are no scratches along the lock to signal a forced entry. Whoever caused the explosion must have entered through the window then ... or caused something to burst in his room. Fortunately, they see no one else down the hallways or hiding in their rooms.

When they head out the front door, Takeru waits for the searchlights to fall on him and the others, and for an army of officers to swarm them and take them into custody. But out in the courtyard, there isn't a single person in sight, just the sky and stars, and a stretch of grass rustling in the breeze. To his left, Takeru sees the school lights on something ... He startles and blinks at the same time. Is that the bridge?

"What happened there?" Flame says with a low whistle.

"I guess so students can't escape," Takeru says. "But that means there are Blues over there patrolling too, so let's head out."

He balls his hands into fists and swallows the rest of the fear deep in his gut. No matter what frightens him, it doesn't matter if he doesn't live through tonight. He needs to make sure everyone on this island lives. If his friends don't see the light of morning, how will he live with himself, as the supposed murderer of Bessho Ema?

* * *

"Sir?" Vyra stands before him, arms behind her back, spine rigidly straight. Her uniform is pressed and clean, and lies neatly over her shoulders and chest. Next to her, Spectre slouches forward with one hand in his pocket. Needless to say, he's grinning from ear to ear, with burning fire in his blue eyes.

"Prepare yourselves," Ryouken says. "Continue monitoring the school and report any and all signs of disturbances. At daybreak, we make our stand against the Blues. We must protect the peace of Link Vrains."

"Yes, sir."

"Aye, Revolver."

* * *

"Miss Ema ... we'll get that Colourless murderer. We promise. We'll avenge you."

Aoi laughs; the sound strains at her rusty, wheezy throat. She tucks her chin between her legs, and gazes out of the corner of her eye at Hayami. She sits on one of the desks, turned so that she can gaze out the window. She shouldn't be able to see anything—it's darker than black out there, and not a single star twinkles in the sky. Even the moon seems weaker tonight, as if not a shred of light remains in this cruel, virtual world.

It feels like it. Aoi knows her brother is out there somewhere, pretending to be a composed businessman and handle matters in a professional fashion, but she wishes he would come back and be with the rest of them. Kusanagi hasn't returned either. Where he could be is as much of a mystery as her brother's disappearance. So it's just her and Hayami in the classroom together. If Aoi had the strength in her, she'd reassure Hayami that everything will be fine and they'll all be reunited soon. Yet the words sound so empty and hollow and pitiful.

She doesn't know when, or if, she'll see her brother again. She doesn't know what will happen tonight. The students are behaving themselves, but if the Colourless Duel King returns, how will they stand up against him? At the moment, she can barely keep her eyes open. With each breath she takes, she feels like she loses a bit more of her soul.

"Don't worry," Hayami says again, and whether she's talking to herself, Ema, or Aoi, is unclear. "Our Duel King gives us power, honour, pride, and love. With him, we are at our strongest. With him, we'll capture Ema's murderer."

Aoi hopes so too.

* * *

_ Trust. Order. Purpose. _

_ The precarious balance between clans has already grown weaker than a piece of string. All I need to do now is create a distraction, an explosion, a catastrophe, and they'll tear each other apart before I even have a chance to intervene. Not that I want to stop them. I'd rather see them rip each other into pieces and scatter their corpses into the starless sea. _


	22. iDentity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a random thank you for reading this story!! i hope you're enjoying it so far! <3

"Hey ..." Aoi peers down the hallway, to where students are crammed into classrooms. They've been there all night, only sneaking out to use the washroom or to purchase snacks from the vending machine. Whenever Aoi has seen them, they've nearly leapt out of their skin at the sight of her. Sure, she's part of a company that has taken over her school ... but she's also the same age as some of them. She should be in high school too. But wearing her Blue Angel outfit, she feels like a kid pretending to be an adult.

All night, Aoi has been lying by the window, too tired to raise her head. Her brother intends to fight with the Hanois. Aoi would too were her brother's health not so weak. They should all be back at the company building, resting and recharging. Whatever is wrong with her brother must be able to be fixed with common medicine. And if it has to do with his Dragon Sword, then surely rest will help him recover? But instead, they've all run themselves ragged looking for the Colourless Duel King who  _ has yet to make an appearance. _

Grumbling, Aoi stomps back to the window seat and flops down on her side. There are no pillows or blankets, but, in a way, she appreciates the uncomfortableness that digs into her body and keeps her mind away. It ensures she doesn't fall away to her own thoughts.

Just as her eyes begin to close, a shadow passes over her. Aoi reaches out to sheathe the knife hidden in her wand when she spots that the shadow belongs to a familiar person: Akira, smiling down at her. He looks less like her brother and more like a walking corpse. His paper-thin hand rests along her temple, and he brushes her bangs aside.

"Have you slept?" Aoi asks.

"Have you?"

Aoi huffs. She tries to pull herself up to a sitting position, but her tired body protests, and so she slides forward and presses her forehead to her brother's thigh. He cards his hands through her hair. With each breath he takes, he wheezes, and when he mumbles to her, "Do you want to sleep? The sun hasn't even risen yet?" his voice sounds choked and clogged. Aoi wishes more than anything that her brother could magically get better and that they'd never have to worry about any of this again.

"Do we have to ...?" she asks.

"Have to what?"

"You know ..." 

He leans back against the window, and for a second Aoi sees him close his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. No doubt the Hanois treated him worse than shit when he was in captivity. Hayami has been forcing him to eat, but Aoi herself can't remember the last time she ate a proper meal; she's been living on granola bars and juice ever since her brother was captured.

Akira's coughing snaps her out of her thoughts. He crunches forward and muffles the sound into his legs, but Aoi can still hear the tight, choked sound to it. Her brother is dying. Carefully, she pushes herself up to a sitting position and rubs his back, just like he used to do for her when she fell ill. After a minute, his coughing lessens to ragged, wheezy pants.

"I'm ... fine," he says.

Aoi bites her lip.

Akira lifts his head and peeks through a slit in his turquoise bangs. "A bad lie ..." he says. "Thank you."

Her lips wobble with unshed tears, but Aoi holds herself together and continues to rub her brother's back. She doesn't want to say it or think it, but she knows what could happen to her brother in this battle. This could be her last day with him unless she and the other Blues stop the Hanois and the Colourless Duel King.

* * *

Ryouken stands at the edge of the broken bridge, hands clasped behind his back. All night and after his conversation with Akira, he stood before the school waiting for day to break. In his mind, he hoped Akira would back down. But he knew well that the last thing Akira would ever do is admit defeat and stop his fruitless revenge quest. It hasn't made things easier for Ryouken. His body feels too heavy, his bones aching to crumble to the ground. His eyes are dry and itchy. He hasn't slept in far too long.

Next to him, Vyra looks equally worse for wear, rubbing at her eyes and stifling a yawn into the corner of her jacket. When she catches his eyes on her, she quickly straightens up and clasps her hands behind her back. "Sir, it has been fourteen hours since SOL Technologies has taken control of Den City High. Permission to pursue?"

Lazily, Ryouken slides his eyes over to Spectre, who bounces back and forth on his heels with barely-contained glee. He bears the same, dark eyebags as them, and no doubt his shaking is due to his exhaustion. Yet it only makes him seem madder, his eyes feverish and wild like an uncaged beast.

"Spectre, any change on the situation indoors?"

"Nope," he says, grinning back. "They're all in there."

"Well then ..." Ryouken cracks his knuckles, and then his wrists. Every bone in his body creaks when he takes a step forward. He feels like an ancient machine coming to life once more. He can't even remember how long he's been standing here on the bridge, waiting for Akira or one of his clansmen to come out of the school and deliver a promising message.

Ryouken narrows his eyes on the school. "We have no choice, you two. To protect the peace of Link Vrains, we must put a stop to SOL Technologies' foolishness. If Zaizen Akira will not control himself, then we must control him. Let's move out."

At his words, the ground beneath them gives a violent shake. His Dragon Sword materialises over his head: a long blade encircled by a dragon with guns along its body and shoulders. The Dragon Sword glows brighter and brighter, hissing out flames. Ryouken takes a step forward, then another. Sparks flicker at his heels as he marches across the courtyard, flanked by Vyra and Spectre. Both of them carry a red glow too—a physical manifestation of their allegiance to the Red Duel King and the Hanois.

For the first length of the courtyard, the school is quiet and empty. No one pokes their head out of the dorm windows, or crosses the field to see them. The wind rustles through the stone paths and manicured lawns without even stumbling upon a human body.

"Vyra, Spectre." Ryouken clears his throat to ensure they are both listening. "Our overall task is to stop SOL Technologies. I alone will go after Zaizen Akira; you two will back me up and keep the other clansmen busy. Restrain the Blue clansmen however you see fit, but do not kill them. This is a mission, not a war."

He tilts his head towards Spectre. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal." Spectre turns to Vyra. "But we must not hold back, right?" He leans forward and looks past Ryouken, to where Vyra walks with her head held high.

"Of course," she says, voice short and clipped.

"Good." Ryouken cuts them off before they can bicker any further. Up ahead he sees the forming shapes of SOL Technologies. Just as he catches sight of the first member, a dart of light shoots up into the sky: a Dragon Sword. Unlike his own Sword, Zaizen's Akira's Dragon Sword is shredded to bits. It doesn't float nearly as high, and it tilts on its axis. The blade is littered in scratches, and the once-shimmering metal is chipped away and rusted. Seated on the handle is a scrawny, blue dragon—nothing more than dull scales and pointy bones. The dragon's wings are tucked into its body. It can't even fly around the hilt of the Sword.

Standing beneath it is the Blue Duel King, Zaizen Akira. Even in the short hours they've been apart, he's grown increasingly haggard. He stumbles forward, wincing with each step he takes. His rumpled clothes hang off him. As he approaches, he tucks his face into his shoulder and coughs chestily, which causes him to stumble into Hayami, who grips his shoulder and keeps him in place. Ryouken doesn't know much about her, other than that she hangs around Akira like a pet.

Ryouken's eyes narrow.

On Akira's other side is his little sister. Zaizen Aoi looks ready to battle to the death. She's dressed as who Spectre affectionately refers to as Blue Angel, only instead of her usual wand, she holds a long, blue whip that glows with her Duel King's powers. She drags it behind her, occasionally tossing it forward and slapping the ground. Blue sparks erupt at the contact and singe the concrete.

"A new toy," Spectre says.

Ryouken ignores it. He stops twenty or so feet from Akira, holding out his arm to ease Vyra and Spectre back. They stand at the ready beside him, hands on their weapons. Ryouken slides his own hand down to his revolver. He's proficient at sword fight, but when it comes down to it, he can put a bullet through someone's skull from thirty feet away. He won't kill Zaizen Akira though. Not a chance in hell.

"You've made your choice?" Ryouken says.

Akira dips his head. "I have."

"Then ..." Ryouken drops his hand down to his hip, rolling his thumb over the edge of his second revolver. "Shall we?"

"Let's."

* * *

Across the courtyard, Takeru watches the Reds and Blues march together to meet for one last time. From such a distance back, they look more like board game pieces than humans, and he can imagine this all to be a simple game rather than the beginning of a war that could destroy Link Vrains. Surprisingly, Takeru feels his knees begin to shake. What can he be scared of? Don't those guys out there want to kill each other first and then target him, as they both believe he's the Colourless Duel King they are searching for.

Just as the Duel Kings meet together, Yuusaku—who had been standing next to him—shoots up into the sky and lands on his D-Board. He plucks Takeru from the ground, and Takeru quickly gathers his balance before Yuusaku drives the board forward and faster than the speed of sound. Ai and Flame balance on their shoulders as they head towards the battle zone.

"You think this is a stupid idea?" Ai asks.

"We  _ are  _ walking right into their hands," Flame adds. "It's like we're announcing that we have the Colourless Duel King and won the battle. That's sure to make this meeting peaceful."

Takeru chuckles weakly, but Yuusaku cuts him off. "None of us truly know if Homura Takeru is the Colourless Duel King. We are meeting with the Duel Kings to urge them to put their disputes aside and work together to find the true Colourless Duel King."

"Like that'll really work ..." Ai mutters. "Don't these guys hate each other?"

"It's the best shot we have," Yuusaku says. He peeks over his shoulder, to where Takeru has his hands spread out to maintain his balance. "This is your mission, Takeru. Are you prepared to deliver your speech?"

"Speech?" Takeru echoes. "I didn't say anything about that. I'm just going to tell them to make up and stuff. Like a friendship … speech."

Flame crows with laughter. "This is sure to work."

"I hope so ..." Yuusaku says. He dives the board down towards the Duel Kings and between them. Ten feet from the ground, the board disappears beneath their feet. Takeru swallows back a scream as he drops, but miraculously he lands on his two feet ... and between two surprised, yet still angry, Duel Kings. He avoids Ryouken's looks altogether; he's already met the Red Duel King under less favourable circumstances. On the other side is Zaizen Akira, the Blue Duel King. He looks like he has one foot in the grave. However, his teammates are equally tired ... in fact, everyone looks like they need a good night's sleep and a hot meal.

Falling between them has gathered their attention. The two Duel Kings and their clansmen neither say nor do anything as Yuusaku brushes himself off and clears his throat.

"Your Majesties, a moment. My name is Fujiki Yuusaku, and I am an anonymous duelist and protector of Link Vrains. I am well aware how improper it is to interfere in the matters of Duel Kings. However, I cannot allow your battle to affect the innocent lives of the students at Den City High. I must ask you to stop and now listen to the man before me."

With a wave of his hand, Yuusaku steps aside. Takeru steps forward, feeling like he's wandered into a bright spotlight. Every pair of eyes falls upon him. The Hanois recognise him at once, and they all narrow their eyes. The girl of the Blues spots him too, and he hears her swear under her breath. He tries to ignore their harsh gazes and criticisms. At his shoulder, Flame sets a gentle hand on his cheek.

"You've got this," he whispers. "Knock 'em out."

Takeru nods, and then addresses the Duel Kings and clansmens. "Hi there. Some of you may know me ... I think." He rubs at his hair, and then, when he spots Yuusaku's icy gaze, he sobers. "My name is Homura Takeru, and I'm a student at Den City High. I'm also the person both of you have been chasing after because you think I'm a murderer. Well ... I'm not. I've come here today to prove my innocence—and more importantly, to stop the battle you want to wage on my school's territory. My friends are in there, and I don't want them to become involved in your fights."

He spreads his arms out for them, stretching his fingers wide. "As you can see, I am not armed. I have no weapons to fight you with. The ignis on my shoulder has promised not to interfere or cause you harm, and if he does, I will personally stop him. I'll do this because I want to help you catch the true culprit, the real Colourless Duel King. I won't run and hide from you anymore because I am innocent. So please, SOL Technologies, and the Knights of Hanoi, let's go about this peacefully. I'm sure we can resolve this with words instead of weapons. Because if you fight on this school, only more lives will be lost—and I have precious friends in there that I will not allow you to bring to harm's way.

"So please, don't make this school a warzone, and listen to me."

At his final words, Takeru gazes around. He's stunned the Blues and Reds into silence, and they all stare at him, not at each other, for further instruction. A bubble of hope fills his chest. They're listening to him. They  _ want  _ to listen to him. And that means—

_ Ka-BOOM! _

Takeru never thought explosions could ever sound like that, but he only hears the noise once before it happens again and again, and the combined explosions drown out each through into a deafening cacophony of white noise. His ears ring and his body vibrates. He tries to blink and step back, and reorient himself with the world, but when he tries to move, he just falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Flame nearly topples off his shoulder and clings to the back of his hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Flame doing or saying something, yet Takeru can't tears his eyes away from the thick smoke clouds rising from a tower of the school.

_ The school's on fire,  _ he thinks, but the thought hardly settles in his mind. He watches the flames lick up at the blue clouds, and the dark smoke choke the white clouds floating in the once-peaceful breeze. He tastes ash on his tongue, and he lets out a startled cough as someone grabs him by the collar and pulls him to the side.

And then he blinks and hears another noise—not an explosion, but a girl's voice.

"Peaceful discussion? What do you call that—"

"That—that wasn't me!" Takeru squeaks out the final words. "I—I don't even know _ what—" _

But the rest of Takeru's words are drowned out in another noise. Not an explosion, but the sounds of panicked screams as students dash out from the school doors and flee into the courtyard. No one looks harmed by the blast, but everyone is pale and shaken, and without any care as to who else is on the field, they dash through the Blues and Reds and hurry to the broken bridge.  Fortunately, no one pushes each other over the edge, but Takeru sees the panic fold over itself like rising waves, ready to crash down on everyone's heads.

And then Takeru hears laughter—splitting, pealing laughter echoing across the campus and drowning out the noises.

_ "You look like fools tearing across the campus! All lined up neatly, all ready to see your lives flicker before your eyes." _

At his side, Yuusaku snarls. "The Colourless King—Takeru, that's got to be him, the murderer!"

Takeru nods his head. Across the sky, all he can see are thicky, smoky clouds. If the murderer is hiding somewhere, he'll be well out of sight—and that's if he's even on the main building. For all they know, he could be out by the storage sheds, or over by the dorms. He could even be at the edge of the island, far out of reach of the mayhem.

Flame tugs on his collar. "Hey, airhead! It's time to go."

Takeru shakes himself awake, and stumbles over to where Yuusaku stands with Ai balanced on his shoulder. Ai's little knees bang together. Yuusaku even looks frightened by the sight, and his lips are pressed into a thin, tight line.

"Mr. Playmaker, let's  _ go!  _ We're sitting ducks if we stay here!"

"No." Takeru's own voices surprises even him. "No, if we run away, I'll only become more suspicious. I can't run away from this and play right into his hand. No ..." He balls his hands in fists, as raising his head to the burning tower. "We're staying here."

"Are—are you out of your  _ mind?"  _ Flame shrieks. He grabs hold of Takeru's collar and shakes it up and down, only with Flame's diminutive size he barely even wiggles Takeru's neck. "Do you have a death wish or something, Mr. Soulburner? Do you want to spend your last seconds being blown to bits by some arsonist? 'Cause I'm sure he's after you—"

"And that's why I can't run away. I'll only be in more danger. Besides, I've just made allies." Takeru swings himself around to see both the Blue and Red Kings standing before him, each flanked by their own clansmen. None of them have moved, and for once the Duel Kings aren't glaring daggers at each other, but staring him curiously, perhaps awaiting his next move. Takeru clasps his hands together and addresses them. "Mr. Zaizen of SOL Technologies, and Mr. Kougami of the Knights of Hanoi, I need your help more than ever. My only goal is to ensure the safety of the students of Den City High, and to rescue them from this evil. I'll do anything I can to help this situation."

Ryouken raises an eyebrow. "And you believe this situation is important to me too?"

"No, but part of ensuring the safety of everyone here is capturing the Colourless Duel King. Thus, our plans aren't so different after all." Takeru eyes Akira. "Would you agree too?"

Akira shrugs a shoulder.

"Then please, trust me—"

"Takeru!"

He spins around. Charging away from the mass of students is Kiku, her blue hair breezing behind her like gentle, lapping waves. She seems unaware of the Duel Kings and their clansmen present, and instead shouts to him, "Takeru, we need to get everyone to safety! Help me!"

Without another word, he rushes away from the Duel Kings and embraces her. She shakes against him, and when she presses her face to his shoulder, Takeru hears her sniffle with held-back tears. He gives her a tight squeeze and then holds her back to see her more clearly. She looks unharmed, but thoroughly shaken-up.

"Takeru ..."

"I know," he says. "Let's get everyone out past the storage sheds. No one will be able to get off the bridge, but at least there they won't be near the burning buildings. And if the police come with rescue boats—"

Before he can get the rest of the words out, someone's hand grabs his shoulder and roughly yanks him away from Kiku. He lunges out for her once more, but this time Yuusaku steps in, swinging Decode Talker between them. His blade hits the top of a gun—a silver revolver. Takeru has never seen a gun up close before, and he swallows thickly. Ryouken is much taller than him, he realises.

"Step back."

"What?"

Yuusaku presses Decode Talker down on the gun, forcing it to point at Takeru's shoulder instead of his face. "Revolver, what are you doing?"

"Step aside, both of you. That girl is a traitor."

_ "What?" _

"She's the murderer, the Colourless—"

A blade sinks into Takeru's chest before he hears the rest of the words. He gasps and throws himself back into Kiku, who holds the blade into his chest. A wide, devious smirk splits across her once-pretty face. Her round cheeks and sparkling eyes have been replaced with horrid, deformed features, the likes of which Takeru has never seen on her. He tilts his head down to the blade, and then back up to Kiku.

How ...

"Oops," Kiku says, and pushes the blade deeper into his chest.

Then Takeru feels the blade sliding into his ribs, and he throws his head back and howls. It burns and freezes at the same time, and his vision turns hazy and blurry. Everything becomes a stew of thoughts and feelings mushed together, a recipe that he'll never figure out. He sees hazy shapes that look like Yuusaku and Ryouken, and other shapes that looks like the ignises. But just when Takeru is wrenched free of Kiku's grip, he falls back into a deep, treacherous abyss.

The floor cracks and breaks beneath him, and the world swallows him whole.

As he falls, he sees nothing: not the sky or the ground, or the tunnel. There's nothing in this place he's fallen into. But then he sees a single, flickering light, like the flame of a candle. It swishes from side to side, and grows larger as Takeru falls towards it. Just before he burns his face on the light, it opens up to the view of someone wearing his exact same face. It can't be him. The similarities are all too familiar.

"Curious?" the stranger says.

Takeru blinks.  _ Curious about ... _

"About who you are, where you came from, where you're going? You must have realised by now that your life is full of mysteries, more questions that answers."

Takeru tumbles the rest of the way down, upside down. He doesn't right himself, but hangs by his ankles before the stranger wearing his face. 

"Who are you though?" Takeru asks.

"Another question, huh?" The stranger taps his chin with a leather-gloved hand, and then smirks. "I'm who you've been longing to meet: the Silver Duel King."


	23. stuDy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moving was successful and i'm now eight time zones ahead of where i once lived XD apologies for the irregular updates; i'm slowly getting the hang of my new life, and updates should become more regular by next week ^W^

Takeru swallows. The ... Silver Duel King? According to Yuusaku, they saw the Silver Duel King when he blew them and his  _ Fire Storm  _ up. It's unlike he, a Duel King, could have died from the blast, but that still doesn't explain why he's here, in this strange, dark tunnel that Takeru isn't even sure how he fell into.

"R-really?"

The Silver Duel King laughs. "Do you doubt me?"

"N-no, sir! Not in the slightest! But ... but why are you down here?"

"Down here?" He laughs outright. "Let me show you something, Homura Takeru ..."

The tunnel flickers, and the flame extinguishes. Not a moment later, a new light appears—and not just light, but details and surroundings. They've wound up in some beautiful, seaside city, with docks and piers stretching out along the crystal-blue water. Inland, there are white-stone houses and even some small skyscrapers, perhaps the equivalent to an average building in Link Vrains. Takeru has never seen such a place before in all of his life, even in history books.

"Does this look familiar?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, come along ..."

Takeru feels his body shoot forward, arching across the coastline and up to a dome-like building balancing along the edge of a cliff. There are no windows in the building, nor cars parked in its parking lot. It looks like an abandoned ruin, but before he can get closer and look at it, he falls  _ through  _ the building—

* * *

 

And when he next opens his eyes, it's dark. He leaps up, only to hit his head on something hard, hollow, and wooden. He winces and ducks back down. Behind him, there is light, and people too. Someone behind him gives a little  _ eep!  _ and then says, "Mr. Soulburner, what  _ are  _ you doing down there?"

He throws his head up again and smacks it on the wood. Quickly, he shuffles out before he embarrasses himself further, until he sees something dart away. That! That's what he's looking for!

_ "Kuri! Kuri kuri!  _ I've—I lost one of the kuribohs for today's experiment because I dropped it out of my hands while I was playing with it, and now—there you are, you little bugger! Get back here!"

The girl behind him squeaks with surprise. "You were  _ playing  _ with them? Mr. Soulburner, those are lab kuribohs, not pets! You can't just take them out of their cage—"

"Got it!" Triumphantly, he pop his head out from under the desk, kuriboh in hand. It's one of the regular ones, the fuzzy brown kind with four little legs. It should look like a menacing duel monster, but in his hands it's more of a soft, fluffy pet, albeit one that squirms away from the cage. Gently, he sets it back into the cage and tousles its fur. It should be cosy in their with food, drink, and bedding, but the little creature throws itself against the bars.

"See?" he says, and then spins on his heel.

The girl—Kiku—sighs. Then her gaze flicks over to the desk once more, and her eyes widen at the sound of another  _ kuri!  _ Soulburner dives back down under the desk. He shoves his hands behind the desk, only to receive a sharp bite on his fingers.

"Are—are there  _ more?" _

"Well I wanted to let them all stretch their legs ..."

"Mr. Soulburner!"

Soulburner peeks over his shoulder and chuckles. "Can you help me out, Miss Kiku?"

"Fine," she says with a huff, and gets down on her hands and knees. He quickly returns to his own work. How many did he let out again? Two cages full? Honestly, he just wanted to give them some free time to run and play before they were set to complete another trial run. Could that really be the worst thing for him to do? Yet behind him he hears Kiku growling and grumbling like he's inconvenienced the entire dimension.

_ I'll have to treat her later,  _ he says with a wry smile.

As he searches behind the desks, he hears footsteps out in the corridor. This lab isn't deserted, but there are only a handful of researchers and professionals who know of this location, and who have clearance to wander the halls. Straining his hears, he tries to make out what the voices are saying.

_ "Expectations among military officials have been on the rise recently since the last battle. They're looking for strong, permanent solutions to end this bloodshed. No doubt we're all weakened, but unless we come to a conclusion first, all of our forces will be wiped out in the coming months. Thus ... our plan is to create super soldiers, or duelists—warriors who can stand the war and turn the tides in our favour. But more than that, we want science to prevail in this world. We want the end of the war to give birth to a new world based in science and virtual technology." _

The second person chuckles.  _ "An admirable goal." _

_ "It's the only goal we have. If we don't force the enemy back, our dimension will perish at the hands of evil." _

Soulburner's eyes widen. Evil? He doesn't know too much about why he's here or conducting experiments for the government and army, as no one seems keen on giving him even minor details. He strains his ears to hear any more, but then Kiku bonks him on the top of the head and says, "Mr. Soulburner, by your hands!" Sure enough, right by his left hand is a little kuriboh cowering behind a desk leg. He shoots out a hand to grab it, but the creature scurries away, and his face connects with the desk with a dull thud.

"Darn!"

The little kuriboh keeps running, hurrying towards the open doorway. Soulbuner scrambles to his feet after it, and just before the doorway, he throws himself out into the hallway and lands smack on the kuriboh. It wriggles underneath him, but he wrestles it into his hands. Only when he lifts his head does he spot the two men who were talking in the hallway. They look like researchers too, wearing white lab coats with deep pockets, but he's never seen such people before in all of his life. The first man is tall with oaky skin, and dark blue hair rustled atop his head. He looks like a military soldier by the way he carries himself, shoulders firm and arms held at either side of him. The man next to him looks much more like a dweeby researcher, with green hair slicked back and large, thick spectacles perched on his curved nose.

Both men stare down at Soulburner, who blushes scarlet.

Around the corner comes Kiku, holding a kuriboh in each hand. Her eyes widen, first at the sight of Soulburner, then at the two men. "Sir!" she says, dropping forward into a bow. 

Soulburner dips his head forward, and then scratches at his tangled, blue and red hair. "Ah hah ..."

"What is the meaning of this?" the blue-haired man says.

The little kuriboh in his hands squirms, nipping at his fingers with its pointed teeth. Soulburner winces and shoves it deep into one of his lab pockets, only the little duel monster scratches at the fabric and tries to throw him aside. Quickly, He shoves it down with his hands and forces his best smile to the two researchers. "Well, you see, good sirs, I was just ... ensuring the health and safety of these here duel monsters."

"All of them?" the green-haired man says. Soulburner squints to read the name tag on his vest. Dr ... Genome. And the other guy is Dr. Aso.

"You could say that," Soulburner says with a weak chuckle. "Um, excuse me for one moment ..." Before they can ask him further questions, he rushes back into the room, taking Kiku along with him. He finds the open cage for the kuribohs and drops them back inside, along with the two Kiku holds. It looks like that was the last of them too, and he doesn't hear any more running amuck in the room, or making a dash out to the hallway.

"Dr. Soulburner, isn't it?"

He spins around. "Yes, um, Dr. Aso?"

"You're just the person we wanted to see, actually," Dr. Genome says, rubbing at his chin. "We've been told you can give us a run-down of your recent experiment. Would you mind?"

"Mind? Oh no—not at all. Let me just ..." He smiles sweetly up at Kiku, who rolls her eyes. "Ready to give it a whirl?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she says. Then, taking him by the shoulders, she leads him out the door. The two researchers follow behind them. These hallways are all too familiar to Soulburner. He's been down here for days at a time, never even returning to the surface to get a breath of fresh air. From time to time, he returns home and showers, but other than that he spends his days deep under the surface of the world, in a research facility built into the stone of a mountain. As they descend further into the building, the air grows more frigid, and the walls narrower. While the upper levels of this building have been tailored to appear normal, the lower sections have a dreary appearance that remind him off a sterile hospital wing. The walls are steel grey, and the lights over their heads emit harsh, artificial lighting. The only thing in these hallways are doors leading to more hallways; when he first started working in here, he got lost among the grey labyrinth.

But eventually he and Kiku lead the researchers down a flight of stairs and through two doorways into an organised laboratory, complete with desks and research tables set around a handmade maze. The maze is the size of two tables put together, and has only one entrance and exit. It doesn't appear all that complicated from an aerial view, but Soulburner has seen the kuribohs struggle to find their way out; there are no markers on any of the maze walls.

The most impressive feature of the room is the large, stone propped up against the wall. Etched into its obsidian surface is a single line stretching from top of bottom, that forks out into various paths all across the stone. The single spire emits a soft glow, and its branches flicker from time to time. Carefully, Soulburner runs his fingers over the etchings.

With a grandiose twirl, he then spins around to face the two men, and clasps his hands behind his back. "Well gentlemen, shall we start the experiment?" He chuckles. "Are you ready to see a Skill in action?"

Dr. Genome chuckles. "What is this? A magic show?"

"Or something like that ..." Soulburner says. He weaves past several desks, plucking out various folders and files from previous research experiments. Meanwhile, Kiku heads to the far room and pulls back a sheet covering several cages of small, fuzzy kuribohs. She pulls out several of them and brings them to the desk. Having been in the maze before, the kuribohs no longer panic and try to climb up the wall; however, they run around aimlessly, searching for the hidden path out of the maze and into a little cage hooked at the bottom of the table. Thus far, the kuribohs have only been able to get to the maze if ...

"Would you like to film this?" Soulburner says, tossing Dr. Aso a small, beat-up duel disk. "You'll want to capture this to bring to your superiors, I bet."

Dr. Aso frowns and says no more. He does what Soulburner requests, holding up the duel disk to fully capture the sight of the kuribohs running through the maze.

"Dr. Soulburner." Kiku snatches up her clipboard and balances it against her tummy. She flicks a stray strand of blue hair from her eyes, and when she catches his attention, her eyes warm. "The control subjects have been placed in the maze. Power has been connected to the Dimensional Stone. Camera is rolling." She smiles. "Clear to add the treatment group."

Soulburner marches over and plucks out another kuriboh from the cages. Unlike the others, this one is stronger and sturdier, and he feels electricity under its fuzzy fur. He scratches its ears as he heads back to the room. Then he holds the kuriboh up for the other researchers to see. "Now placing treatment kuriboh into the maze."

As soon as the kuriboh's feet land on the ground, a beacon of light drops from the ceiling and hovers over the creature's head. It looks like a small, sharp dagger. Its blade glows white-hot, and its sharp point is turned downwards. Crawling around the hilt is a dragon with white scales and red eyes, and that roars at the researchers. Soulburner chuckles; he thought the dragon was just for decoration.

Across the table, the researchers' eyes widen.

"That—that's—"

"A Dragon Sword," Soulburner finishes.

But the Dragon Sword has done more than simply glow and flash in the sky. The treatment kuriboh squeaks in surprise and takes off through the maze, as if pursued by some ghostly force. It is quickly followed by the other kuribohs, who had previously been aimlessly searching for the way out.

"As you can see," Soulburner says, gesturing to the maze, "these disorderly kuribohs have now become ordered and controllable by following this kuriboh here. That is the treatment kuriboh, or the King, who is under the influence of the Dimensional Stone. It is my and Kiku's belief that people do best when they are led by power and order that create balance and harmony. Thus, these kuribohs will all find their way out, as you can see here ..." He tilts his head down to where the kuribohs have begun to fall into the hanging cage. They sit patiently at the bottom of the cage, crouched before the King.

"In a military setting, we would call these leaders Duel Kings, and their affluence would create a strong, supportive regime that would ensure victory. Through the use of the Dimensional Stone, people can be persuaded to follow those with power, without turning powerless themselves. On the battlefield, we believe this would give our troops an advantage that would ensure victory."

Dr. Genome looks too focused on the steady stream of kuribohs falling into the cage to care about anything Soulburner has said, but Dr. Aso scratches his chin and flicks his gaze from Soulburner to Kiku. Soulburner feels like he's being tested himself, subjected to such intense, painful scrutinising. This is what the government wanted, right? Super soldiers?

Kiku's cry startles all of them though. "Soulburner, stop the experiment—now!"

He doesn't have to ask why. Quickly. he shuts off the power to the Dimensional Stone and cuts the connection between all the kuribohs. Madness descends on them as they begin piling on top of each other, trying to climb out of the cage. The few that still remain in the maze turn tail and run back into the labyrinth, once more assuming scared, flighty behaviour. The treatment kuriboh doesn't move; instead, it begins to glow brighter and brighter, and above its head the Dragon Sword cracks straight down the blade.

Before the Sword can split in two, it disappears and the kuriboh passes out.

"What was ...."

"A complete success!" Soulburner says, clapping his hands together and drawing their attention away from the mad sight of the kuribohs on the table. He and Kiku hurriedly put away the creatures and cover up the cages, maze, and Dimensional Stone, all the while praising each other. Kiku's tone wobbles from time to time, and even he feels his neck begin to prickle. But the researchers don't say anything, and so, once everything has been cleaned up, he ushers the researchers over to one of the desk and pours them all cups of black tea.

"As you can see, the experiment is highly successful with kuribohs. Both Kiku and I believe that, if the Dimensional Stone links with a creature with higher cerebral function, it will produce physical phenomena, the likes of which have never before been seen in this dimension. Incredible, huh?"

Kiku nods her head, up and down and far too determined. "If we could replicate this process with humans, imagine the possibilities, sirs—"

"War would break out among the super soldiers." Dr. Aso clears his throat. "That would only cause further damage and destruction."

"But ..." Soulburner scratches his head and laughs. "Why would the super soldiers be fighting? This is the first time humans would ever have superpowers. Why do you think people would automatically use it for fighting?"

"Because humans are greedy, selfish, and thrive on the battlefield."

"I disagree, sir." Kiku steps forward, clasping her clipboard tight to her chest. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have to disagree with you. This dimensional war happened because people have lost hope in their leaders."

"And food!" Soulburner adds. "It's been slim pickings for a while now, and people must be getting hangry and antsy. So that's why Kiku and I believe we need good, strong leaders in this dimension. If there is a sincere, valiant Duel King to guide the people, then it will be his duty to ensure that resources are shared and no one goes without. After all, the duty of a king is to serve his people; and thus, the duty of a Duel King is to serve the dimensions."

Dr. Genome laughs outright, the sound akin to nails on a chalkboard. "People do not fight over  _ food,  _ boy. They aren't after their next meal. They are out for  _ blood,  _ and that sort of resource only comes from the battlefield. But no one will be eating  _ anything  _ if there aren't strong, positive results from the upcoming battles. What you two have shown me is that you've been dressing up and playing make-believe thinking that some fairytale king is going to help you—"

Dr. Aso clears his throat to cut his partner off. "Dr. Soulburner, Dr. Kiku. As interesting as this experiment appears, I do not believe it is fruitful to our efforts. Furthermore, the light from the Dimensional Stone must be visible from the surface, regardless of whether or not there are windows down here. Are there lights that appear outside of this building? Or how about power differences? Is it safe to be performing such experiments?"

"Totally fine," Soulburner says with a dismissive wave of his hands. "No one knows about this facility but the people in this room, and I trust the two of you not to leak it to anyone. Besides, even if the nearby city gets bombed, they won't stray over here to drop a bomb on this facility—it doesn't even look like a building, just a bunch of piled-up rocks!"

"Foolish boy," Dr. Genome mutters. "You think our enemies will spare you?"

"Not me," Soulburner says, proudly patting his chest, "but why would anyone even drop a bomb out here? It's beautiful and there's nothing that would warrant anyone attacking the citizens. Trust me, we'll all be fine." With one last smile, he swings around to where Kiku has returned with a wrapped plate of onigiri. His smile widens even further. "Aw, Kiku, you didn't have to!"

"I did," she says, tucking her chin down to her chest to hide her rosy blush. "I think I've got the hang of this new recipe now, but tell me how it tastes—"

Soulburner doesn't hear the rest of her words. Hurrying over to her, he peels back the plastic wrap and snatches up a ball. He doesn't even taste the filling before he swallows it in one gulp. Eagerly, he reaches for another one, but Kiku bats his hand out of the way and peers around him.

"Gentlemen, would you care for one?"

"One?" Dr. Genome echoes.

"Food!" Soulburner says. He grabs another one off the plate and, before shoving it in his mouth, holds it out for the two researchers to see. "Kiku's the best cook in this whole town, and she's been trying out new recipes! Whodathunk you could cook in a laboratory?"

Dr. Aso raises an eyebrow to that.

"I mean, I mean ... here, try one." Soulburner steps aside to let Kiku pass, and she brings the plate to them. On it are five triangle-shaped onigiri: rice wrapped in dried seaweed, and filled with either sweet or savoury toppings. This time, he remembers to chew his food before swallowing it, and he tastes meat! "You got new ingredients, didn't you? This tastes  _ good,  _ Kiku!"

"I'm glad you enjoy it!"

"It?" Dr. Aso twists the ball around.

"Onigiri!" Kiku says proudly, even jumping a little. "I found a cookbook in here that teaches simple yet delicious recipes. I still think I need to work a bit harder to master the correct portions of filling and rice, but as Dr. Soulburner said, this is probably my best batch yet. Now ..." She turns her head and taps at her small, pink lips. "If only you knew how to cook something more than rice."

Soulburner raises his hands and guffaws, the sound bouncing around the room. "Call me out, why don't you? One day though, I'll be a better cook."

"I'm not even sure how you can mess up with this recipe, but you sure try your hardest."

_ "Kiku ..." _

She laughs, her voice like an upbeat tune playing from the radio. He ducks his head to the side to hide the growing blush, but when Kiku turns around again, he swipes a third onigiri from the plate and shoves it in his mouth before she can admonish him. Both researchers have yet to touch theirs, holding in in their sweaty hands as if it's a contaminated substance.

"It's not poisonous, y'know—go on, have a try!"

Reluctantly, with their shoulders hunched up to their ears, the researchers take a bite of their food. It's not quite the comedic response Soulburner was hoping for, but their expressions soften as they chew, and they continue to eat in silence.

With the plate now empty, Kiku sets it down on the table and comes to stand next to him. She wraps one hand around his back, settling it along his hip, and then leans in. On cue, he leans into her too. For so long, it's just been the two of them down here, working tirelessly, cooking fruitfully. This is the first time all week someone has come down to check up on them. In a way, he appreciates the silence. He could live down here forever and only a handful of people would ever recognise his name or face. But sometimes he wishes he and Kiku could see more people and make friends, and live their lives outside of this research facility. In a way, he feels as trapped as the kuribohs.

Kiku squeezes his side with her fingers, and rolls her head up onto his shoulder. With her face so close, he can make out the thick, individual lashes framing her eyes, and the faint freckles all around her face, blending into her peachy complexion.

"Well." Dr. Aso coughs into his fist and glances from Kiku to Soulburner, who quickly break apart and dust themselves off. "Is this it?"

"It is," Soulburner says.

"We'll be taking our leave then," Dr. Genome says, already making his way out to the door. Soulburner's heart clenches. Did they not like his presentation? What about it didn't look like the greatest invention of all time? Neither Dr. Aso nor Dr. Genome say anything as they head out the door, so, to fill the silence, Soulburner throws his hands up into the air.

"Thank you to the both of you! Come see us again for more food and entertainment!"

Kiku chuckles under her breath, though the sound seems to catch somewhere in her throat. "Thank you very much for coming to see us. I hope our demonstration has helped you."

"Y-yes, of course."

As they watch the researchers stumble out of the room, wiping their hands on their clothing, Soulburner swings an arm around and pulls Kiku towards him. She settles her head along his shoulder once more, and leans into the curves of his body. If his scratchy lab coat bothers her, she doesn't say anything. The two of them watch the figures leave smiling, and, once they've headed back to the surface, he gives Kiku one more squeeze.

"I think they liked our idea, Kiku."

"You sure?" she says, pinching one of his cheeks. "Sure we didn't scare them away?"

"No way. They loved us."


	24. acceDe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delays ^^;; also this story may or may not be wrapping up soon - i haven't decided if i want to continue on or not. in terms of plot, the series K has a sequel that i can easily translate into a vrains plot, but i'm not sure if anyone would really want that, so ... if you'd like, please let me know? :3 if not, i'll pick up another plot and make a new vrains fic ^^

One day, the sky is dark and the ground covered in shadows. It must have been such a terrible, gruesome sight, but Soulburner never sees the bombing of his hometown; he is deep in the research facility when he hears the ground rumble and the ceiling began to crack. The duelists and machines aren’t just bombing the city—they’re bombing the entire area.

He sucks in a breath.

No.

No, they aren't supposed to bomb the research facility. Why would they bomb an uninhabitable area of piled-up rocks? But as the ceiling above his head cracks and snaps, he comes up with no other excuse. Quickly, he dashes out of the office and hurries down the corridors into the depths of the facility.

Just as he heads down the stairs, he hears Kiku scream after him, "Dr. Soulburner!"

"Just a sec!" he shouts back, wincing when the last of his words are drowned out by the bombs dropping above their heads. Even though they're deep within the facility where the bombs shouldn't be able to hit, they still sound far too close to the surface. He clings to one of the railing as he descends the creaky, metal stairs into the testing facility.

"What?" Kiku runs down the hallway after him, and grabs the back of his lab coat before he can step fully down the stairs. She doesn't yank him back up, but her grip is firm. She expects an answer.

"There—there are notes down there, documents that we need! We can't just leave our work—" He glances over his shoulder, only to see Kiku's eyes widen and pool with tears. She clenches his jacket in a tight fist, and then gives him a tug.

"Please ..."

Soulburner reaches around and pulls her down the stairs. "Come on, help me out here—"

Kiku stumbles down the stairs with him, bracing herself on the doorway. He leaves her there, rushing around the room. He grabs anything he thinks he could need to prove his research: notes, documents, files; even bits of equipment. The kuribohs in their cages whine and cry, but he already knows he can't take them up to the surface. There are far too many of them, and who knows if they'll even make it out alive. He bows his head when he passes them to grab a clipboard hanging by their cages, and mutters a soft apology.

"Dr. Soulburner ...."

His eyes catch on the great stone propped up against the wall. It glows faintly within the etched lines. There's no way he can carry it up the stairs, or salvage it from the rubble that this laboratory will surely become. Already, he can hear the ceiling cracking. They don't have much—

_ Crack! _

He braces himself for the falling earth. The crack sounds far too close for comfort, and he squeezes his eyes closed and screams. However, his own scream is drowned out by a painful, shrieky gasp followed by a horrible, ugly silence. His eyes snap open a second later, and the entrance into the testing facility is blocked by large slabs of the ceiling shaped like jagged puzzle pieces.

Kiku is nowhere in sight.

He lets out a single scream and dashes forward. Even though the ceiling cracked and shattered upon its impact with the ground, he doesn't see Kiku anywhere. He can't hear her crying, or breathing. He pushes at the rocks, but he never was strong, and regardless of whether he pushes against the rocks with his hands, legs, or body, the rubble doesn't budge. His eyes begin to water and drip down his cheeks.

No ...

The tears stop as soon as he sees, peeking out from under the left side of the rocks, Kiku herself. Blood is splattered across her brow and soaking into her midnight-blue hair. Her eyes are closed, and she doesn't respond when Soulburner grabs her by both arms and pulls her out from under the lighter, looser pieces of the ceiling. When he gets her out of the rubble and into his arms, he only cries harder. She doesn't blink or breathe, and the way her body folds into his arms reminds him of a hard, plastic doll.

He chokes out a breath.

"W-why ... you ..."

Above him, the ceiling cracks once more. He leaps back before anymore of the ceiling tumbles on top of his head, and scurries to the other side of the room, back pressed into the ebony stone. It pulses behind him, crackling with raw power. He doesn't remember turning it on, but the stone seems to have taken on a new form, breathing like a sentient power.

He shivers against it, and then presses his hand to the surface. It feels like he's reaching out to another person—someone with great power.

He closes his hand into a tight fist, and turns his head down towards Kiku. She rests in the crook of his arm, blood slipping down her face and pooling into another wound on her neck.

"W-why?" he whispers to her. "Why were w-we ... bombed? This ... this w-wasn't supposed to happen. But ... but ..." He faces the crumbling doorway, the sight of the facility collapsing around him; and over the noise of the world snapping in two, and the kuribohs screaming at him, he calls out, "Hear me, Dimensional Stone! Hear me out! Please grant me your power—the power to fix my mistakes!"

The ceiling cracks over his head. He doesn't close his eyes this time. Instead, he sees the sky open up before him as a beacon of light pierces through the ceiling, then the ground, and shatters the world. The beacon brightens until it burns to look at it any further, and then it transforms into a beautiful sword, as white and shiny as a diamond, encircled by a fire-breathing dragon. The sword has to be as tall as a three-story house, and the dragon around it as big as a car.

He lets his mouth drop. A Dragon Sword.

He summoned a Dragon Sword.

He pushes himself up from the stone and rises into the air, holding Kiku up to his chest. The stone rises with him, and together all three of them float to the surface. Even though he rarely ventured out into the city, often spending days or weeks at a time in the research facility, he still remembers the sight of the outside world: its white-stone buildings and wooden docks; its grassy landscapes and picturesque features reminiscent of a friendly village. None of that remains. The city is on fire, and all the buildings have been broken down into rocks and wood slivers. The planes have long since moved away, but no one stands on the hills, or runs away from the disaster.

Even when he cannot see the city, he knows few people have survived.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground. He settles at the edge of a gaping chasm in the ground where the research facility caved in. Bits and pieces of the stone hallway remain, but the sight reminds him more of a pot of soup. There isn't a single distinguishable bit of a room in sight.

Behind him, the Dimensional Stone appears unscathed. Not even dust clings to its surface or corners.

He doesn't have a chance to eye it up before two people clear the hills and approach him: Dr. Aso and Dr. Genome, both of them shaken yet otherwise unscathed. Soulburner shrinks back into the Stone when he sees them, cradling Kiku against his chest. Are they here to ensure he saved his research? Do they even care about him?

They stop just a couple feet away from him, and both stare down their long, hooked noses at Kiku in his arms.

"I—I'm sorry—"

"Dr. Soulburner, what in—"

Soulburner reaches out to calm them, but he catches the strange, ethereal glow around his hand—-no, not just around his hand, but encircling his body too. The light doesn't seem to glow around Kiku, nor does it bounce off her greying features, but Takeru himself looks like an angel descended from heaven. He waves his hand to the side, and the light follows it. It reminds him of his kuribohs and the light that encircled his test subject, the one kuriboh connected to the ...

"I'm ... sorry ..." Soulburner says, bowing his head forward.

Dr. Aso grabs him round the shoulder and hauls him up to his feet. Soulburner stumbles, but holds tight to Kiku's corpse. She feels lighter than a feather.

"We need to find cover," Dr. Aso says. "A military chopper is on its way to pick us up. You'll be coming back to our base to answer some questions."

Takeru's eyes widen. What? Has he done something wrong? Surely they don't think he orchestrated the bombing of his own hometown and research facility? Or that he would even know about such a planned attack? He's been in his secret laboratory for the past thirteen days without any contact or communication with the outside world. But he can't say a single word to them, not when they each grab him round the shoulder and hold him steady.

They wait for the chopper on the same mound. When it lands, he climbs inside, still holding onto Kiku. Not a single officer tries to take her from his hands, and he wonders what kind of deadly expression he's making at them all. Is he scaring these military soldiers? For the entire trip, neither Dr. Aso nor Dr. Genome ask him any questions, or even make eye contact with him. Soulburner keeps his eyes on Kiku, searching for any signs of life. He feels shell-shocked and too scared to cry.

When the aircraft lands, two soldiers grab Kiku from his hands.

Soulburner leans back and screams. "Don't you dare—"

"Let her go," Dr. Aso cuts in.

Soulburner tightens his grip.

Then something sinks into his neck—a syringe, he sees from the corner of his eye—and he gasps in fright. All at once his vision begins to swim, colours and shapes blending together in mesmerising patterns. He cries out and stumbles away from them, but the medication has already been injected into his bloodstream, and no sooner has his vision begun to sway does his body give out on him. Rather than blacking out though, his head just keeps spinning. His cheek bumps against the ground, the pain dulled. Then someone scoops him up and carries him forward. He can't keep his feet on the ground, or even figure out where his feet are in comparison to the rest of his body. With his vision as clear as a drippy watercolour painting, he doesn't know where he's being led. The world keeps on moving even when he suspects he's been placed in a room.

When at last his vision clears, he has no clue how long it's been since the bombing. He feels sick and weak, and he gazes around the room. There are four walls, a ground, and a ceiling. The door is visible, but unfortunately he's chained to a chair with his hands tied behind him. His feet aren't bound, nor is there anything in his mouth to impede speech.

"He ..." He clears his throat with a weak cough, and glances from side to side. "Hello?"

The door swings open, and in step both Dr. Genome and Dr. Aso. Dr. Genome has a syringe in his hand, and Dr. Aso has a clipboard. Soulburner's eyes widen at the syringe. He was drugged before, wasn't he? He remembers the feeling of falling out of his body; that was after the helicopter ride, after the bombing, after Kiku ...

"Where's Kiku?" he demands.

"Dr. Soulburner," Dr. Aso says. "We will answer your questions in due time. Right now, we'd like to ask you—"

"No," Soulburner says, pulling his arms to his sides and rattling the chains that bind them against the bars of the chair. "No, you—you tell me why we were bombed! What—what happened back there? How could they know about ... about anything—"

"Dr. Soulburner, we'd like to ask you about your recent experiment with the kuriboh and the stone. Who was involved with that project?"

But that only sends his mind wheeling further into a soul-wrenching, throat-clenching, heart-convulsing panic. "What does that have to do with it? My research, you say? What about it? Is that why the city was bombed? Is that what you're saying?"

"Doctor." Dr. Aso clears his throat. "Who was involved in your research?"

"Just me and Kiku, and you two. W—why?" Soulburner glances between the two men. "Did .... did someone leak the information?"

"Seems like it," Dr. Genome says, and twirls the syringe around in his hand before swiftly capping it and dropping it into one of the large pockets of his own lab coat. "Perhaps in light of your recent achievements, and the obvious signs of such research from the glow of those Swords, the enemies saw an opportunity to bomb you all before you could complete your project. Sounds fair?"

"But—but they would never—" He jangles the shackles around his wrist, and bends forward to face the two men. "There's no way!"

"We found the papers you shoved into your pockets and have secured them in a safe, top-security vault. No one but the three of us in this room have seen the documents, and likely they will never be examined again, at least as long as this war continues. Doctor, is there research hidden elsewhere?"

Soulburner can't even answer it. He rarely took his work home with him, and the last time he saw the city, it was in ruins. There's no way the structure of his house could have survived the bombing, much less a file of flimsy papers. As for the research facility, it caved and burned to ashes; he remember seeing it go up in flames as the chopper ascended into the smoky sky. No way could any research have remained in filing cabinets or on the computers.

"Your research was seen as dangerous, as you are aware," Dr. Aso says, clasping his hands behind his backs. "The creation of Duel Kings endowed with special abilities is a power any military or dimension would want their hands on—"

"And you, Dr. Soulburner, the brightest scientist in all of the dimensions, were too dumb to think the enemy wouldn't come after you interested in it?"

Soulburner spins his head towards Dr. Genome, who cackles loudly.

"Your facility was highly visible from an aerial view, and even more noticeable when you let that light escape. You were probably watched for weeks before the enemy decided to bomb you. And they call you the brightest mind of our generation? Hah."

"I ..." Soulburner swallows thickly. "I never thought—"

"That's right," Dr. Genome says, leaning in so close Soulburner can see the dust particles on his glasses. "You didn't think."

"It was foolish of us not to realise this too," Dr. Aso says. "We were also aware that your experiments were not as secretive as we believed, and yet we did nothing to protect you, your partner, or your research. As researchers for the military, we apologise for our negligence, Dr. Soulburner. However, we were also aware of your naivety. We should have taken action."

"You don't have to baby me," Soulburner says, and he forces out a dry, creaky chuckle that rubs the wrong way against his throat and causes him to cough. "Please don't act like I didn't bring this upon myself."

"But you did," Dr. Genome says, and his smile stretches across his waxy face. "You see, Doctor, we are very interested in the Dimensional Stone and its power over others. We know you accessed the power of the Stone and have become a Duel King: the very first super-soldier. Now ..." He cracks his knuckles. "If you value your work and your life, you will toss aside your existence as a human and lead us into battle."

Soulburner eyes widen. His power. He remembers reaching out to the Dimensional Stone, cradling Kiku in his arms. The power ... it was theirs, and the kuribohs, and everyone's. It was a power to share, to nurture connection and trust and family. It created belonging. And most importantly, it was a power to help others, not to hurt them.

"The Dimensional Stone isn't a war tool—"

"There will be no peace unless this Dimensional War ends," Dr. Aso says. "Dr. Soulburner, we are asking you to lead us and the other soldiers into battle. This power is not for everyone; it is for those on top to control those on the bottom. If everyone has this power, war will only break out; we explained this to you before. People do not want to be helped; they want to be controlled. You will be the one and only Duel King, and you will use us to win—"

"No." Soulburner rattles his chains once more, and peers through his bangs at the two scientists before him.

"No?" Dr. Genome echoes. "Well then, if you won't take up our kind, generous offer, I guess we'll have to ..." He trails off, and reaches into his pocket once more. This time, instead of procuring a syringe, he pulls out a small, black handgun, which he tosses from hand to hand before catching it round his finger. He presses the tip of the barrel to Soulburner’s temple.

"Two Duel Kings cannot rule the dimensions together, Dr. Soulburner," Dr. Aso says.

"How ... do you know?" Soulburner says. He flinches when Dr. Genome presses the gun deeper into his head, driving the barrel against his skin. Does he think the gun can go  _ through  _ his head or something. But then he hears the safety switch click. His blood runs cold. Do they plan to kill him? Are they serious?

They are.   
  
"This is no longer your power, Dr. Soulburner," Dr. Aso says. "If you won't step up to the plate, then I will stand in your place. As the one and only Duel King, I will shoulder the pain and suffering of these dimensions. Where we live is not a kind place. It is unforgiving. Merciless. Cruel. And you, Dr. Soulburner, can no longer live in it."   
  
Click.   
  
Soulburner closes his eyes, but he doesn't feel the bullet, just the gun pressed to his temple. Slowly, his lifts his gaze and peers at Dr. Genome, who wrenches the pistol back as if stung. To his side, Dr. Aso steps back too, and they glance from each other to Soulburner. He still sits on the chair, arms chained behind him. Nothing has changed ... except for the white glow surrounding his body, and the bullet casing by his chair.   
  
"H-how ..." Dr. Genome says.   
  
A calm feeling washes over Soulburner. He tilts his head to the side. When he pulls his arms apart, the chains snap as if made of twigs. "Dr. Aso, Dr. Genome, you can't control people through fear. You can't make people happy through fear. What you're doing won't work, not even with the power of the Dimensional Stone. But ..." He rises from his chair; his legs twinge in pain, and he settles a hand on the back of the chair. "But if you give me some time, I'm sure I can find a way to make everyone happy."   
  
Dr. Genome fires the gun at him. Once more, the bullet bounce off the shield and shatters on the ground below. Soulburner doesn't even blink when it flies towards him, nor when it breaks. He doesn't even feel it hit the barrier.   
  
"That's impossible," Dr. Genome says, firing again and again at him. "How are you—"   
  
"I don't know," Soulburner says, shrugging his shoulders. "But this power Dr. Kiku and I discovered is not for hurting others; it's for leading them. And I think she would say the same thing."   
  
The barrier spreads across the room, sparking it like the flame of a candle, and when he next opens his eyes, he's no longer Dr. Soulburner dressed in a white lab coat, but Homura Takeru, a student at Den City High. Takeru grabs at his heart and sucks in a breath, and Soulburner—the very same Soulburner whose life he once lived—grabs his shoulder to steady him. He doesn't say anything until Takeru has caught his breath.   
  
"You—"   
  
"That is my story," Soulburner says, "as Dr. Soulburner, researcher of the Dimensional Stone. But ..." He cups a hand under Takeru's chin, and slowly raises his head so that they can see each other properly. With his face so close, Takeru sees that Soulburner has the same, bright eyes as him: eyes that smile and dimple in the corners, and that sparkle with fire.   
  
"This is also your story."   
  
"My ... story?"   
  
"Our story," Soulburner says. "But you have fallen from this story."   
  
"Fallen?"   
  
"In the seventy years since the First Dimensional War ended, you have watched from the skies of Link Vrains as the city tore itself apart. You have watched people live and die, thrive and struggle. You have watched them hurt themselves and each other. It is only because of the Gold Duel King’s interventions that Link Vrains is still standing today. She has worked hard to make it a peaceful, successful place. She believed this world was full of infinite potential and possibilities.   
  
"But what about you? What have you done?"   
  
"Me?"    
  
Soulburner sweeps backwards, and a red scarf materialises between them, flickering with embers. It wraps around him like a shawl.   
  
"You have done nothing. You've made her bear the burden alone, fixing your mistakes, working to achieve your dream. You had lofty ideals, but no motive to achieve them. Give you more time, you said? What does that even mean? When would you ever step back into the world and make a difference?"   
  
"But that was ... you ..."   
  
Soulburner smiles at him. "Did you ever have any hope to begin with? Did you ever stand a chance as a Duel King? Could you ever make anyone happy?"   
  
The points of Soulburner's hair begin to lose their colour, fading from vibrant blues and reds to weak, nearly-white strands. Bits of red still remain, but he looks more and more like Homura Takeru; Takeru feels like he's looking at his own reflection. But then Soulburner’s face changes shape too, growing more pointed and twisted, wickedly stretching over his sharp cheekbones.    
  
"You hid up in the skies and pretended to be doing secret, important research; even down in the earth, you holed yourself up in there saying you were making great discoveries? What did you ever achieve? What have you ever helped? Saved? You've dragged out this world, this ending. Aren't you tired of it?"   
  
Before Takeru can jump back, Soulburner shoots forward and grabs him round the neck. Sharp nails dig into Takeru's throat, and he twists away. Soulburner's grip is stronger, and before Takeru can pull away, he throws him to the side. He hits a wall and gasps. All around them, the world has grown inky and black, and the two of them stand in the only bit of light remaining.    
  
"Give yourself to me, Silver Duel King!"   
  
Takeru's eyes widen, but before he can get a sound out, the scarf round Soulburner's neck wraps around his head. He writhes from side to side, yet the scarf only tightens, choking him.   
  
"Have a nice little rest, Silver Duel King."


	25. Dominate

Out of the corner of Yuusaku's eye, he sees Kiku fall. She tumbles towards the ground, eyes closed. Bits of blood speckle her hands from where she drove the dagger into Takeru's chest. As she falls, Yuusaku shoots out a hand and catches her. He prepares himself for her to open her eyes and try to strangle him, or harm him in any way, but she remains unconscious as he slowly lowers her to the ground.

"Get back from her!" Vyra shrieks, throwing her sword out. It clips Yuusaku on the shoulder, who moves into the line of attack to protect Kiku.

"Hey, you!" Aoi says, dashing forward. While appearing ready to attack, Yuusaku sees her intent: they all want a shot at whoever this is.

Fortunately, Kiku's eyes flutter open just at that moment. She coughs weakly and tilts her head up towards him. Yuusaku braces one hand over her chest, securing her arms back; his other arm reaches behind him to where Decode Talker has materialised. If she makes any sudden movements, he'll incapacitate her before she can kick off from the ground. Yet Kiku stays in his arms and shifts her tired, woozy eyes from side to side.

"What ..."

"Kamishirakawa Kiku," Yuusaku says, gathering her attention. "Or the Colourless Duel King. Why are you after Homura Takeru?"

"W .... who?" Kiku blinks long and slow at him.

Yuusaku clenches his teeth together. Is she playing stupid or something, or does she truly not know what is going on?

Behind him, Ai and Flame scream at Takeru, who remains motionless on the ground. The dagger juts out from the middle of his chest and sticks up in the air like a switch. Whenever Ai or Flame touch it, the other one pulls them away, only for them to try again to wrench the dagger away.

"Vyra," Yuusaku says. "Tend to Takeru. I'll watch the Colourless Duel King."

To his surprise, she turns on her heel and leaves him; normally, clansmen only answer to their Duel Kings. But both Akira and Ryouken stand as still as statues, staring down their noses at him and Kiku. Neither of them have moved and inch, and though no doubt they'd be able to kill the Colourless Duel King in one hit, they haven't made any moves.

"The murderer ..." Ryouken says. "Is this her?"

Yuusaku shakes his head. He can't tell. Kiku stares at him with wide, empty eyes. She doesn't even appear to recognise  _ him,  _ even though they've been in class plenty of times before. And something about her just breathes normalcy and humanity. Could the Colourless Duel King really be her? The details would never add up.

"Hey ... hey, what's going on?"

He turns over his shoulder to see the dagger lodged in Takeru's chest begin to wiggle, softly at first, and then with possessed, erratic movements. Once it wiggles free, it shoots up into the air and falls ten or so feet away. The two ignises go running towards the wound, and the next thing Yuusaku hears before he can kneel down is Flame's sharp gasp.

"He's healed!"

Yuusaku falls to his knees before Takeru. Sure enough, the wound has cleared up without a single drop of blood spilt on his crisp, white shirt. There is no signs of any injury, and the shirt has mended itself together. Yuusaku sucks in a sharp breath, and brings his hand over to where the injury should have been. Would this be resurrection? No ... restoration. The healing of the body—of a body that can never die.

Ryouken steps up next to him, clicking his teeth together. "So this boy is ..."

Takeru's eyes flicker open, and his face splits in a gnarled grin.

"'This boy is the Silver Duel King?' Is that what you wanted to say, mister?"

Takeru slides back and up into the air, pulled from the ground by invisible strings. He hangs like a puppet in the air, and slowly lifts his head up. His limbs dangle all around him, and when he waves his hands from side to side, it looks like someone is  _ forcing  _ his movements.

"Well, you are half-right there, Revolver. I am a Duel King, just like you. But I am not the Silver Duel King, no no  _ noo.  _ I am the  _ Colourless Duel King,  _ both the weakest and the strongest of all the Kings."

Yuusaku stumbles back, dropping Kiku to the floor. He gazes up at Takeru, who he supposes can be Takeru no more. This creature looks like he stepped out of a nightmarish storybook wearing the once-peaceful face of a child. He doesn't fit in the body either: his expression slides up and down, and his limbs twitch as if he's still getting used to having two arms and legs.

With a deep, rumbling laugh, Takeru throws a hand up and catches it round the red tie around his neck. He holds his hand there, tickling his fingers over his chest. "Because in here, inside me—is the Silver Duel King! I gobbled him up!"

"You  _ ate  _ Takeru?!" Flame screams.

"The fuck!" Ai adds. "Spit 'im out!"

Ryouken swings his sword to the side, cutting the ignises' retorts off. He holds the sword out, and then draws it up to point at Takeru. Yuusaku spots an opening at the point of the weapon: a barrel through which Ryouken must be able to shoot bullets. But Ryouken doesn't shoot anyone; instead, he begins to speak. "Colourless Duel King, you have finally revealed yourself. It seems you have possessed one of our fellow Duel Kings."

"I wouldn't call it possession," Takeru says. "Didn't you hear me? I  _ ate  _ him. Sounds more like consumption to me."

"Give him back!" Flame continues to shout.

Takeru winks at him. "No can do. Just as ignises have the ability to distort perception, I have the ability to distort  _ memories.  _ I can become anyone and anything—and isn't it so kind of you two Duel Kings to see me? Now, which one of you should I consume first? Red or blue?"

Akira steps forward, albeit with a clumsy, tired gait. He stands next to Ryouken though, and holds his head up as high as he can. Yuusaku has to admit: Akira looks bad. He looks tired and weak, and if he were the Colourless Duel King, he'd go after the easier meal first. But surprisingly, Ryouken makes no such comments.

"His possession powers are incomplete. He must not be able to stay with a host for long, or control them as much as he'd like. He's goading us on, trying to get us to drop our guards or fight amongst each other."

Akira shrugs a shoulder, and then leans to the side to cough heavily. He looks ready to tumble over, and Yuusaku wonders if he should be prepared to catch Akira and help him to the ground. But Akira remains swaying on his feet, and he grounds out, "I've seen ... this power before. But ..." He tilts his head towards Ryouken. "We just need ... to kill him."

Before Ryouken can scream out, "No!" or "Stop!", or anything to bring Akira back, he shoots off from the ground and up into the air, drawing out a great blade from thin air. Blue fire bursts from it and snakes out after Takeru, who leaps through the air as if walking on the clouds themselves. He chortles loudly, calling out taunts and chants to Akira.

"Come and get me, Blue Duel King!"

_ Boom! _

The ground erupts in blue flames from Akira's Skill. Dust flies everywhere, only to be consumed by the flames that stretch their arms up to grab at Takeru's ankles. Yet he remains one step ahead of Akira, no matter how much he exerts himself. Blood dribbles from Akira's lips as he begins to choke and cough, but he doesn't hold back on his attacks. Yuusaku prepares himself for a retaliation. He can't hold back an unstable Duel King like Akira, but he can be prepared for the Colourless Duel King to make his counterattack.

Yet it never comes. High up in the air, Takeru spins round and round like a toy top. "If you eat another Duel King, you get their power too. That means, just like the Silver Duel King, I'm indestructible! But"—Takeru holds out a finger and wags it from side to side—"I'm me too, the Colourless Duel King! And you other Duel Kings should know that I'm not going to topple from some weak attack like that!"

Stumbling to his feet, Yuusaku prepares himself. He won't be able to protect anyone, but if he, Ryouken, and Akira—

"Hey, get back here!" Ryouken screeches. He flies up into the air, and reaches out for Akira's ankle. Before he can even get within a foot of him, Akira spurs forward with newfound strength. Yuusaku can't believe he still has that much strength within him. How is Akira even alive by this point? But whatever is keeping him alive drives him through the dusty air and towards the Colourless Duel King faster than either Yuusaku or Ryouken can react.

"You coming after me, Duel Kings? Let's take our battle to new heights then!"

Before Yuusaku can call them back, Akira and Ryouken take off into the air and disappear into the distance, leaving behind only scorch marks from the strength of their abilities. Now that the battlefield has cleared, Yuusaku spots the clansmen of both Duel Kings around them: Spectre and Vyra on one side; and Aoi, Hayami, and Kusanagi on the other side. They all look prepared for battle in some shape or form, and he can't tell whether their enemy is the Colourless Duel King or each other.

Aoi is the first to break the silence. She throws an arm up into the air, cries out, "To my brother!" and leaps into the air. At her side, both Kusanagi and Hayami crouch down to prepare to launch themselves too.

Vyra cuts them off with a sharp, "Stop!"

It stops them, but no sooner has she spoken does Aoi swing her head around and stare at Vyra with narrowed blue eyes. She clenches her wand in one hand and points it at Vyra. "What did you just say to me?"

"This is a fight for the Duel Kings," Vyra says. "If this becomes a melee, we'll be playing right into his hand. The more people involved, the more choices for the Colourless Duel King to consume. We should leave this matter to Revolver."

"That makes sense," Kusanagi says. He smiles at her, and then glances down at his two clansmen. Both Aoi and Hayami have their eyes wide open and their mouths hanging out. "The only one who can settle this is the Blue Duel King. That's some sound advice, Miss Vyra. But then again ..." He flicks his hand to the side, and blue flames erupt around his fingertips. "SOL Technologies doesn't only rely on sound advice, does it?"

Aoi and Hayami step up towards him. Blue light surrounds them: the power of their Duel King. Likewise, red light surrounds both Vyra and Spectre, who has yet to break eye contact with Aoi. Yuusaku feels his blood begin to grow cold. Don't the clansmen realise they're only playing into the Colourless Duel King's hands? Can't they put aside their pride and work together? But then again, he doesn't want to involve himself in their matters so long as no harm comes to the students of this school. His priority is the safety of the students and Takeru.

And Takeru ...

Over to the side stand Ai and Flame, both of them still screaming curses at where they think Takeru flew off to. Kiku lays right next to them, awake but still dazed. Yuusaku crouches down next to her, and reaches to the side to scoop the two ignises up in his hands. Ai and Flame squawk at him, but Yuusaku doesn't let go.

"Kiku," he says. "Follow Ai and Flame. They'll take you back to the students."

Kiku blinks at him, and slowly follows his gaze to Ai and Flame.

"Hey!" Ai says, stomping his foot down on Yuusaku's palm. "Who said anything about that? We're gonna go punch that Duel King and make him spit Takeru out."

"He's gonna regret ever messing with us!" Flame says with a decisive nod.

Yuusaku shakes his head. "Take care of Kiku. If you want to help Takeru, then you need to make sure the students are safe."

How the ignises can do that, Yuusaku doesn't know. Students ran out of the burning buildings several minutes ago, and he supposes most of them ran towards the bridge to try and get off the island. Maybe Ai and Flame can help rebuild the bridge and get the students to safety. He doesn't know. But out in the distance, Yuusaku sees sparks. The Duel Kings are fighting, and he cannot let this continue.

_ I want Link Vrains to be a peaceful place. _

"And where do you think you're going?" Ai says, grabbing him by the cheek.

"Gonna be a hero?" Flame adds.

"I'll get Takeru," Yuusaku says. He drops the ignises onto the ground, and before they can leap onto him he takes to the skies, shooting up through the dust and then into the open air. His first breaths are weak and smoky, and he coughs. But then he flies onwards, out towards the battlefield. In the distance, he sees Akira pursuing the Colourless Duel King, and Ryouken pursuing Akira. This could never end well.

_ I want Link Vrains to be a peaceful place ... _

Yuusaku feels the words thrum in his heart.

_ Just like Takeru once said.  _


	26. noseDive

Aoi takes a deep breath and closes her eyes just as Akira's Skill—the power flowing through the clansmen of SOL Technologies—touches her own soul. It caresses her and draws out her strength and potential, and so when she opens her eyes, the battlefield no longer looks so deadly and imposing. Spectre's glare doesn't even frighten her, and she returns it with a sharp stare of her own.

Drawing her wand out, she points it across the field at Vyra and Spectre. "Here we are," she drawls. "The Blues of SOL Technologies."

Kusanagi snaps his fingers, and procures a small lighter from within his pocket. He flicks it open and lights up a small, blue flame. With another snap of his fingers, the fire grows to the size of a baseball. He tosses the flame from hand to hand, and over the spark, he smiles at Vyra.

"Miss," he says with a short nod. "Looks like we've reached the battlefield."

Vyra's eyes widen. "B-but—but our enemy is the Colourless Duel King, you must agree! Surely you are smart enough to know that much!"

"We are."

"Then—then there's no reason to battle—"

"Ma'am," Aoi says with a jump of her shoulders, "there is always a reason to do battle. After all, remnants of the murderer might still be around here ... and that's not even mentioning what you've done to this school. My brother is off with the Duel King, but that doesn't mean the rest of us are sitting ducks." She crouches down, drawing her wand in front of her, ready to strike. "We'll tear you to shreds, Hanois."

Kusanagi claps his hands together. "And that just about covers it."

_ Snap!  _ The flame in his hands bursts to the size of a football, and continues to grow, lighting up the courtyard as if it were struck by a giant spotlight. Vyra and Spectre jump back, their faces pale. Quickly though, they assume an attack position of their own: they draw out their swords, one metal and one wooden, and hold them at the ready.

"On your guard, Spectre," Vyra hisses to him.

Spectre's slasher grin rips across his cheeks. "Of course."

Aoi swings her wand down. From the tip burst a single stream of hot, blue flames that lick across the courtyard and straight towards Spectre. Right before it hits him, Spectre slashes his sword across the flame's path, cutting it as if he were snipping a wire. His sword continues to spin around, and before Aoi can leap out of the way, Spectre charges right for her. The two of them clash, tumbling atop each other and rolling several feet away. Though larger, Aoi kicks Spectre off and dashes to the side. Neither of them have landed a successful attack on each other, but already she feels the drain from a fight.

But she also feels the adrenaline too, pounding through her veins. It's been a couple days since they've last had a match. And besides, regardless of what is going on around her, like hell Aoi will let Spectre get away. They've been rivals for too long, and all she wants is to sink her weapon through his twisted heart.

_ I want a Link Vrains without traitors like you. I want loyalty. _

Spectre pounds the blunt edge of his wooden sword into her cheek. With a cry, Aoi tumbles to the side and rolls across the ground. Grass stains her Blue Angel outfit; her wings tear across her back, and when she pulls herself up, one of them hangs at her side.

"Broken Blue Angel," Spectre says, snapping his fingers as he heads towards her. "Will you ever win in a fight?

_ Snap! _

From across the courtyard appear several of Kusanagi's fireballs that hit Spectre squarely in the chest. Not only do they knock him off his feet, but he too slides across the courtyard. Grass stains the back of his white uniform, and bits of dirt and weed stick in his hair. He shakes himself off and glares at her; Aoi can't help herself from chuckling. She glances over her shoulder and gives Kusanagi a quick thumbs up. No doubt he's busy with Vyra too.

"What a weak sapling you are," Aoi says. "Gonna cry home to mommy tree?”

Spectre only grins back at her.

Aoi tosses her weapon from hand to hand. It's all right if she doesn't beat Spectre right away. Right now, she just needs to keep the Hanois occupied while her brother goes after the murderer. That way, they're all serving justice and keeping Link Vrains the peaceful, loyal place it should be.

* * *

 

_ Look at them there, fighting among themselves. Everyone's tearing each other apart, all of them looking for a little piece of land they can call their own. They all want to own something, control someone. They're all supposed to be on the same team, but of course power drives humans mad. They get hungry, and they hunger for blood. _

Perched on one of the trees out in the forest, the Colourless Duel King, Windy, can see the Blues and Reds fighting tooth and tail out in the courtyard. Their wide, striking attacks capture his attention. Neither team backs down. Each time it looks like someone has gained the upper hand, a fellow clansmen comes to their aid, and once more a striking battle commences. It fascinates him how no one thinks to step away from the battlefield and go after him. Didn't a researcher once say to him that humans seek out conflict, that humans with power look for ways to control others?

Yeah, he did.

But ... did that researcher ever say it to him! Windy clenches his hand in a fist, and rubs it up and down across his heart. This isn't his own body, and likely isn't even his own memory. However, whose memory is it? Whose thoughts are he searching through? He's consumed so many humans, and taken up so many appearances, that it becomes hard to remember who he truly is, or ever whose mind he is thinking with. As he searches through his thoughts, memories float to the surface: beach trips with classmates, day in the laboratory, sleeping on the sofa in the airship. Those can't be from the same person, can they?

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, but instead, as if his mind were a snow globe, it only brings more memories to surface. They cloud his eyes and stick to his mind. No matter how much he shakes himself, or bangs his head on the tree trunk, the thoughts continue to pop like soap bubbles. Each memory stings him. Why does he have all those thoughts? Who have they come from? And how can he get them all away?

His stomach rolls and tightens in thick coils. Weakly, he settles down on the branch and presses his back to the sturdy trunk. His vision spins, so much that he can barely make out the battlefield or the clansmen fighting out there. He can't see the Duel Kings either; he lost both of them a while back.

At the thought of the Duel Kings, something snaps into his mind. A memory, or perhaps a persistent thought that  _ he  _ is a Duel King, that he is—

Someone.

Someone ... right?

On cue, his stomach lurches, and he curls up into a tight ball. In this human body, he feels weak. He fists his hands in his white hair, and tugs at the tight ribbon around his neck. He slips off his school jacket, body hot and bothered. It does little to comfort him when the next thoughts appear, taunting him:

_ Who are you? Who are you. Whoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou— _

"I'm me!" he screams to the sky. He grabs the loose ends of the ribbon and pulls them together. "I'm who I'm meant to be!"

_ And that is?  _ the voice taunts back.

_ Oh ... right. Someone told me about this back then, back before I killed that woman ... _

* * *

He can't stop shaking. He can't stop his heart from climbing into his throat, reaching for his brain that aches and pains like someone dug a thousand needles into it. He can't draw in a proper breath, and each attempt he makes sounds like a weary croak. He coughs and coughs then, expelling the air out of his lungs, hoping at least he can spit up his heart so it will stop hurting him. But all that happens is tears leak from the holes in his face.

He has no mouth anyways.

"You're quite the sight," someone says. 

Windy lifts his head, and peers at the space before him with drippy eyes. He can't see clearly, and the lack of oxygen makes seeing straight a far too daunting task. He keeps swaying from side to side, nearly tumbling to the ground, but whoever is speaking to him does not come any closer or show themselves. They remain across the void-like room, arms crossed.

"You're confused, aren't you?" the stranger says. "This is the result of taking so many memories. You yourself have become confused about who you truly are. Do you recognise your own body? Your own memories? After consuming so many people, you have become all of them ... and lost yourself in the process."

"I'm ... me," Windy says.

"If you knew who 'me' was, that is," the stranger says, and though he can't see him, the stranger sounds like he's swallowing laughter. His voice is rich and deep, and echoes across the endless chamber. Windy doesn't even remember wandering into here; one day he just woke up and the darkness had swallowed him. This doesn't look like the home of any of the humans he's consumed, nor could this ever be a place he would live in. So how did he get here then ...

"This is the burden of Duel Kings with too much power."

Windy smiles weakly. Sure, rub it in thick. Tell him that he flew too close to the sun and got burnt in the process. It didn't even seem like that many people he consumed. He was just trying out the specs of his new powers. And that still doesn't answer how he ended up here. He gazes around the empty space: it's dark and mottled like a bruise, and with no light in sight, the he wonders just how he's able to see so far back. Where is the light coming from?

"But maybe that burden is also your strength," the stranger says. Across the empty space comes the sound of tapping feet. No one emerges from the thicket, but the room begins to change. Colours warp and merge around him. Windy sucks in a scratchy breath. He's still shaking uncontrollably, and his breathing has yet to slow to a normal pace. His heart feels like it will burst inside of him.

Then something settles over his shoulders: a soft cape made of the darkness itself. It wraps around his shoulders and cinches under his neck. He stiffens at the contact, but still the stranger does not appear.

"Sometimes the greatest contributors to the world have neither a face nor a name. Their  _ existence  _ is famous. So, Duel King, you too will become someone that will change Link Vrains. You'll become the strongest King of them all: the Colourless Duel King."

"Co—colourless?"

"A nameless player who will champion the dimensions."

Windy blinks up at the swirling darkness. His body emits a soft glow, like the flickering flame of a candle. He's the only bit of light remaining in this endlessly dark chasm. And yet, as the cloak settles across his shoulders and swallows him up, he no longer feels quite so alone. He can take in a small breath that slows the pace of his heart, and breath by breath, his body relaxes.

"Enjoy your game, Colourless Duel King," the stranger says. "No matter who you are, you'll be famous."

When Windy next opens his eyes, he's no longer a mouthless creature, nor is he in that chasm swallowed by the darkness. The stranger isn't with him ... or if he is, he's now visible. Sitting across from him is a man with blue and red hair flecked out all around his head. He wears a long, white labcoat with a red scarf tied around his neck; the scarf rustles with a faint breeze coming from the windows. Slowly, Windy turns his head to the windows. It's a dark night, but the city lights scatter along the surface like small stars. Further out, the world is black: the sea stretches as far as he can see. They must be near the coast then.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the man says.

The ignis nods his head—and then his eyes widen. Reflected in the glass is a face—his own face, curved at the jaw. His hair is white tossed with red, and he has a pair of glasses that frame his vibrant, green eyes. Gently, he pinches one of his cheeks; to his surprise, he sees the same pose in the reflection. That does it. That person can be no one but him. But then ... who is he? Whose body has he woken up in?

"Does this appearance suit you?" the man says. "I'm Dr. Soulburner. Here ... let me get you a tissue, you have something on your cheek."

The ignis lowers his hand from his cheek. Across his fingertips is scarlet-red blood, smeared down his hand too. Now that he looks more closely, his school uniform is covered in blood too, especially across his white top. Quickly, he zips up his jacket before Soulburner returns. If Soulburner saw that blood too, he doesn't make note of it. He chuckles to himself as he holds out several tissues. Windy pauses before taking them.

"I saw your work on the rooftop, you know," Soulburner says. He rises and heads back to his seat, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You shot that woman of SOL Technologies."

Now he remembers. He was down on the rooftop when he saw her smoking and taking photographs. She looked so weak and innocent, and even if she was one of the Blues, she was unprotected. So ... he shot her to cause a scene.

"Thankfully," Soulburner continues, "her clansmen have found her. See here." He flicks his wrist to the side, and several digital holograms appear out of thin air. The first image is of Ema—that was her name—lying on the cement, blood dripping from the shot wounds. She was killed by the first shot. The next images are of her clansmen finding her: the brown-haired girl who dresses like an idol. Blue Angel, right? Or Zaizen Aoi? Windy doesn't remember much about her, but he feels a smile slide over his human face as he spots Aoi cradling the bloody body to her chest and wailing up at the moon.

So his work was successful then.

"That wasn't a very nice thing to do, you know?" Soulburner says, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "But alas, I can't do much to stop you now that the deed has been done. I've no place to even punish you here. As a Duel King, you must act as you see fit. You must use your powers how you wish, shaping Link Vrains into your own, beautiful world. But ... I still wish no one had to die."

At those words, Windy lets out a barking laugh. "So you'll do nothing to stop me?"

"I cannot," Soulburner says. His smile slips, and he stares down at his folded, shaking hands. "As the Silver Duel King, I will never interfere in the matters of other Duel Kings. I know down there, the Duel Kings will create their own conclusions. I will not force them. So ... is that what you came to ensure by coming up here, Colourless Duel King?" 

Windy’s smile widens, and he stands and creeps closer. His shoes drag across the smooth, creamy tiles and then across the patterned rug. He stops right in front of Soulburner, who folds his hands in front and smiles up at him like an obedient student.

"Yes?"

"I knew you wouldn't stop me, no matter what," Windy says. "And now I remember why I'm here." He reaches forward and presses a single, fleshy finger into Soulburner's chest. "I wanted to meet you, Silver Duel King ... and I want you too."

With a cheer of the glee, he leaps out of the student's body and into Soulburner's. He wrestles control with the mind; in a way, he pulls out all the wires and plugs himself in. Quickly, thoughts, feelings, and emotions begin to flood his own mind. He hooks himself up into the body. One minute he's looking at the Silver Duel King, and the next minute he  _ is  _ the Silver Duel King gazing back at a frightened and confused school boy.

He throws his head back and cackles loudly. His voice booms through the room. He wonders if the people down below can hear him, and what they might say if he made an appearance to them. What would they do if they found him, the Colourless Duel King, posing as the Silver Duel King?

But then ...

He stares down at the boy before him. Is he the Silver Duel King? He shakes his messy, silver hair, and rubs behind his glasses to get at his eyes. Then he blinks several times at him, as if wondering who he's seated before.

"Who ... are you?" the boy asks.

Windy smiles and sweeps a hand through the room. "I am the trickster King, the Colourless Duel King ... and now the Silver Duel King. I'm who I'm meant to be: the top King and the very best of them all. No longer will I be sitting around in my airship watching the world rip itself apart; no, I'll be changing this world so that only one Duel King remains: me!"

Soulburner blinks up at him. "Duel ... King?"

"You don't know who you even are, do you?" he says. "Oh well. I can't have you around."

He snatches the boy up by the arm and drags him away from the couch. In the Silver Duel King's body, he's much taller and stronger. Soulburner wriggles and pulls, but his efforts are fruitless. Once dragged to the end of the room, he stops squirming when Windy pulls back the hidden door. Outside is the dark, stormy air. It whips and whistles at the opening. Since they're flying through a thick fog, the opening appears cloudy and covered. He knows though that it's just a quick drop down into the ocean.

"Wha—"

Now Soulburner is startled. He reaches forward and tries to pull himself away, but Windy catches him by the back of his uniform collar and lugs him forward like a sack of potatoes.

"Now now, don't make this harder than it already is." He spins the Soulburner round so that he can see him, and see himself reflected in the boy's bright, green eyes. He looks so young and scared, his hair scattered along his brow. His bottom lip quivers.

"See ya," Windy says, and pushes Soulburner through the opening. He lets out a single, short scream as he falls, and then the violent winds sweep any further noise away. As he gazes down into the hole, all he sees are the clouds, and through them, little dapples of light. They must be passing over a town now.

_ Oh well,  _ he thinks. _ Maybe the kid will hit the ground and break his back. _

With one last laugh, he struts away from the opening and back towards the couch. He plops down on its plush surface, crossing his legs together and settling back into the warm cushions. It's been so long since he's sat back and enjoyed himself. Of course, he still has more work to do; there are still six other Duel Kings to consume. But after this, he deserves a night off. So he tips his head back and closes his eyes, and lets the gentle thrum of the airship's engines lull him to sleep.


	27. frienD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! i've been a bit busy and unable to update twice-weekly, so for future updates, i'll be posting _once per week, on Mondays_. there are a few more chapters to go, and then i haven't decided if i'll temporarily pause the story before i begin the sequel, or if this story will stay as a standalone. we'll see. but of course, more writing is coming - a whole bunch of mini-fics for several different writing events: YGO Mini-Exchange, Datastorm December, and Vrains Rarepair Weeks. be sure to look forward to those fics from the end of November through to the beginning of January :3

Takeru feels like he's caught in cryo-stasis. Or suspended mobility. He feels like he's in a fever-dream too, only he can see far-too-clearly the burning school ahead of him, and the Reds and Blues fighting out on the courtyard. Everyone seems caught up in their own problems. No doubt chaos has descended upon Link Vrains. And yet he can do nothing while trapped inside the Colourless Duel King, Windy.

Inside himself? Attached to Windy, Takeru can sense all his thoughts and feelings. He's a part of the murderer now, but then who is he? Is he Homura Takeru, a student at Den City High? Is he the Silver Duel King, Soulburner? There are too many names and titles for him to wrap his head around, and while the thoughts keep coming at him, he can't make sense of a single thread of consciousness. He wishes he could just close his eyes to it all.

But then, up ahead of him, he sees a single figure dashing forward on a D-Board. Takeru's eyes widen and his heart leaps into his throat. Of all the people to find him, he's glad it's Yuusaku. He crouches low over his board, one hand behind him to steady himself, and the other out in front of him. Decode Talker hasn't materialised yet, but perhaps he's waiting for something.

Windy sees him too, but instead of dashing away, he stands up and waves his hands back and forth. "Hey, hey, over here!"

Takeru swallows thickly. What—what is this guy doing? Yuusaku's going to slice and dice him, and who knows if damage done to this body will affect Takeru or not.

Fortunately, Yuusaku doesn't stab him with his sword. He lands at the end of the tree branch, just a few feet away from Windy. The D-Board materialises away in a flicker of pixels, and then Yuusaku stands, in just jeans and a t-shirt and faces them both.

"So you are the Colourless Duel King then. Does that mean ..." Yuusaku's eyes flicker to the side, and then back to the murderer. "That the student I know as Homura Takeru, is in fact the Silver King, Soulburner?"

"Perhaps," Windy says. "I wouldn't really know, seeing as his fall seemed to knock out most of his memories. But regardless of whose body I'm wearing, I know whose soul I consumed: that of the First Duel King, Dr. Soulburner himself. But he's not for you, no no no. I've searched long and hard for this guy, and for a body."

Inside the Duel King, Takeru tries to knock through the barrier. Even if he's caught in some sort of limbo, he can't be  _ gone,  _ can he? There must be another way for Yuusaku to save him. He bangs on the walls and dashes from side to side. His limbs feel loose, and when he moves it feels like walking through jelly. If Windy can feel him moving around inside him, he makes no attempt to stop him.

"So," Windy says, holding out his arms and stretching his fingers. "What can you do about this? If you slice and dice me, then who's to say your friend in my belly will survive? Or that I'll even die? After all, I consumed the Immortal Silver King. You know as much as I do that the boy you knew as Homura Takeru can't die; he fell from an air blimp for pete's sake! So if you cut me, won't I stay alive?" 

Windy creeps closer and closer, clapping his hands together. "Looks like you're stuck with me forev—"

_ Swish! _

Decode Talker slices through the air. Not only does the blade create an effortless arc between them, it catches Windy across the cheek. Takeru feels a buzz of pain along his own cheek, but more importantly, he sees blood flick through the air. Just a couple droplets, but enough that the Duel King hisses and wrenches backwards, tumbling into the tree trunk.

"H-how?" he shrieks, cupping his cheek. Fresh blood drips between his fingers.

Yuusaku draws the blade back and swings is around in a great arc. "This blade's name is Decode Talker. It was made to bring order to chaos, and to create a peaceful Link Vrains. With one strike of this sword, I will  _ end you,  _ bastard, and put a stop to this foolish war in the city. You will not destroy what I have created."

With those words, Yuusaku shoots forward once more, striking the blade up towards his head. Takeru squeaks, but Windy  _ screams  _ and leaps out of the way. Bits of his hair tumble towards the ground. Pursued, Windy bounds through the trees. Takeru feels his heartbeat quicken, and sweat soaks his forehead and bangs.

"The—the hell is that sword?" Windy says.

Takeru doesn't even know himself. All this time though, Yuusaku was able to hurt him, so ... can this sword really kill him?

Behind him, Yuusaku leaps into the air and holds the sword in front of him, ready to plunge it down a second later. Both Takeru and Windy glance up towards the shadowed figure. Their breath stops.

_ I ... can't ... be ... you. _

Something pushes at Takeru's back, and when he falls forward, he realises that his vision is much clearer, and that he can feel the wind and the trees and the cut on his cheek. He's back, isn't he? He is! But then ...

Above him, Yuusaku drops, driving the blade down, down, down—

_ "Cut that out!" _

From within the trees comes a single black ball that slams into Yuusaku, knocking him off his path and into the branches of a tree. Yuusaku falls into the branches and leaves, and tumbles down as he tries to get a grip on anything before he hits the ground. Takeru nearly slips and falls too, and catches himself by grabbing onto a fistful of leaves and hanging there. Fortunately, Yuusaku catches himself soon after, and gazes up through the trees.

Takeru opens his mouth to call out to him, but Ai and Flame, now separated, beat him to it.

"Mr. Playmaker, don't kill your own teammate!"

"That's Mr. Soulburner, you dolt!"

Huffing, Yuusaku spins around to slap both of them. They skitter out of the way and settle on the next highest branch, dangling their little feet.

"I could've cut you, you know—"

"You could've killed  _ Mr. Soulburner,  _ that's what!" Flame says. He leaps down onto Yuusaku's head and grabs a fistful of hair. "Think before you strike!"

"Yeah!" Ai adds. "You could've shishkabobbed him!"

Takeru chuckles weakly, but just as he feels himself grow steadier on the branch, it gives out beneath him. With a gasp, he tumbles towards the ground. Somehow, he doesn't faceplant; instead, he feels cotton on his cheek. Glancing up, he spots Yuusaku with his arm out, holding him steady. Takeru's face bursts pink, and hurriedly he pushes himself away and onto the grass. 

"Hey, hey—be careful!"

Yuusaku's eyebrows mesh together, and he twists his lips together. "What?"

"I—I don't know if I'm me ..."

Sighing, Yuusaku shoves a hand through his hair and rustles his bangs. He lets out another gust of breath, and crouches down in front of him. On his shoulder stand Ai and Flame, both peeking out between the strands of blue and pink hair.

"Another case of identity crisis?" Ai asks. "Kid, you're all sorts of messed up."

Takeru chuckles weakly, and draws his legs up to his chest. Yeah, that's one way of putting it.

"I ..." He swallows, and peers at Yuusaku through his bangs. "I think I'm me," he says, but the words taste like bile. "I don't know. For now. Maybe."

Yuusaku merely dips his head forward. He sheathes Decode Talker behind him, and rises up to full height, only to bend back down and deposit Flame on Takeru's shoulder. Happily, Flame nestles against his uniform collar; the little curl on his head tickles Takeru's jaw. He remembers this feeling, and yet a dark, foreboding feeling brews in his stomach. They're not safe ...

"Takeru, we need to go. Ai and Flame, you too. I figured that if the Colourless Duel King was some kind or demon or spirit, or even a trickster ignis possessing a human, that he would flee the scene in times of trouble."

"What do you mean  _ 'suppose?'"  _ Ai quips. "You were ready to impale Takeru without a second glance!"

Yuusaku clears his throat to silence Ai. "Now we need to find out where that murderer ran off too."

Before Yuusaku can even take a step away, Takeru lets out a quiet, "Um ..." and then a "Well ..." And no matter how quiet the sounds are, they gather Yuusaku's attention. Takeru shirks down under the intense gaze, and squeezes his hands together. "I think ... the Colourless Duel King is still inside me. No ... no, I know he's still there. I can feel him. It's him. But he pushed me to the surface because ... well, probably because he thinks you won't kill me, and so you won't kill him either. But if you turn your back, he'll switch positions. I know it."

His heart climbs into his throat. Now that he's paying attention to the feeling of someone crawling around inside him, Takeru knows the murderer is just waiting for an opportunity to break free.

Slowly, he stretches out a hand. "So Yuusaku, please ... the only way to stop him now ... is to kill me."

The reaction is instantaneous: Yuusaku gasps, Ai and Flame both swear, and within him the Colourless Duel King shrieks. He doesn't wriggle to the surface, but Takeru feels him growing more frantic. Unlike the two ignises he's familiar with, this one seems unable to take a solid form, and thus flails around as a weak spirit. The fear is obvious though.

And on Yuusaku, fear looks horrifying. His face is drawn pale and shaky, and rather than draw his blade, he's stepped closer, ready to stop Takeru.

"Are you kidding me?"

"N-no," Takeru says, trying to keep his voice even. He scooches baack another step, putting as much distance between him and Yuusaku as he can; that way, he's far enough away for the Colourless Duel King to strike, but still close that Yuusaku can pierce him in a moment's time.

"Yuusaku." Takeru rolls the word off his tongue, and lets out a slow, steady breath. "Yuusaku, I remember who I am ... I think. I saw memories that I think are mine—my past first as Dr. Soulburner, a scientist and the founder of Duel Kings and Skills ... and then as Soulburner, the First, Silver, and Immortal Duel King. That ... that's my name. Soulburner. Just like Flame always called me. But really ... I'm just a coward who missed his chance to die. That's all.

"All this time, I've been living in hiding: first in a research facility, and then up in my airship. I've never meddled in affairs because I've been so naive and caught up in my own wishes. But really, now more than ever ... all I want to do is die. As the anonymous duelist and protector of Link Vrains, your wish stands against mine. I ... I created this mess. I know I did. I let everyone tear each other apart just because I didn't want to control them. But ... but you want to control Link Vrains only to make it a better, safer place to live.

"But Yuusaku, listen. If you kill me, an immortal Duel King with no value or purpose and whose soul is attached to the Colourless Duel King, then you kill two birds with one stone. You rid the world of two mistakes. And then maybe my existence wouldn't be such a waste after all ... I guess." Takeru chuckles and rubs at his head. "It's always been my wish to make people happy, even if that comes at the price of my own life. I'm not important. I didn't do a lot with my life, and I doubt I can change that. Besides ... isn't your goal to kill the Colourless Duel King? You already have to kill me."

At his shoulder, Flame yanks on his ear. "Mr. Soulburner, you are so full of weepy shit—"

"Indeed," Yuusaku says, voice low and scraping across his vocal cords. "Indeed, Takeru, that is my goal."

Swallowing thickly, Takeru closes his eyes. Flame slaps him on the cheek, but he keeps his eyes closed.

_ Click. _

Yuusaku unsheathing Decode Talker.

_ Swish. _

Decode Talker slicing through the air.

_ Smack! _

Takeru feels something dull and blunt hit him squarely across the cheek, and he tumbles forward with a gasp. His eyes spring open, but he doesn't see blood, just the dewy grass he fell upon. His vision blurs briefly, and then someone grabs him by the scruff of his jacket and hauls him to his feet. It's Yuusaku, features sharp and stern. On his shoulder is Ai, cackling like a crow. He kicks his feet through the air.

"Ow!" Takeru says, rubbing at his cheek. "What the heck was that for?"

Growling, Yuusaku drops him back down to the ground. "How rude—"

"That's my line!"

"—of you to think that the route to a peaceful Link Vrains is offing an honourable person like you."

Takeru opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it. And blinks. "W ... what? What did you just say?"

"I have no clue how Dr. Soulburner lived his life, and I have only recounts of how the First Duel King spent his free time. Those accounts may be true, but the person standing before me—that is, Homura Takeru—is who I must judge. And you, Takeru, are not someone the world should ever lose. Ever. Even for the sake of killing the Colourless Duel King. My goal would be unsuccessful if I harmed you to get at someone else."

Yuusaku twists his arm to the side, but instead of sheathing Decode Talker, he spikes its tip in the ground. "There is something only you can do, Takeru. I know it. And if you lack the courage to do it, and need someone to urge you on, I'm certain both myself, and the ignises, will be happy to help you along. I won't let you sit around and dawdle like the Silver King, no matter how you are related to him.

"I—I think I  _ am  _ him ..."

"This sword, Decode Talker, is a gifted blade that will bring about the peace and prosperity of Link Vrains. And I, Fujiki Yuusaku, was entrusted this blade with such a mission. So ..." Slowly, Yuusaku bows his head down, and his next words come out softer. "So, if it pleases you, I will fight alongside you, Homura Takeru, as a clansmen of the Silver Duel King."

Takeru blinks. His heart stops. And maybe his lungs too. All he sees is Yuusaku with his head bowed before him, and that looks like far too suspicious of a sight. Is he dreaming? Hallucinating? He keeps on blinking, hoping that his vision will clear up, but all that makes him do is tear up.

Then he sniffles. Once. But it's enough that Yuusaku's head flips up and his eyes widen, and it's the wrong expression on him. Takeru just knows it.

"What?"

"What?"

Takeru dips his head back down, and hurriedly rubs at his face. He puts on his best smile, stretching out the corners of his cheeks, and tries a short, stunted laugh. "That ... that sounds pretty fancy coming from you, Yuusaku." He laughs again, this time more clearly. "What a formal address. Are you going to keep talking so fancifully to me now that I'm a Duel King?"

Yuusaku shoves his head down, but the corners of his cheeks are visible, and Takeru sees that they are a fluorescent pink.

"But you don't have to address me as some king, or use that fancy language. Here, say it just like me ..." Takeru stretches out a hand to Yuusaku, and this time he doesn't feel a speck of the Colourless Duel King around him. He knows he's safe; he can feel it. So he keeps his hand out, and smiles brightly, and says in the clearest voice he can manage, "Yuusaku, will you please be my friend?"

Yuusaku stiffens, and once more raises his head. His blush is still there, but within his eyes are sparkles. They match Takeru's teary gaze.

"Fr ... friends?"

"Don't act like that's some foreign word from a different dimension," Takeru says, and instead of grasping Yuusaku's hand, he claps him once on the shoulder. "Friends."

Ai comes scurrying down Yuusaku shoulder and grabs onto Takeru's hand, holding it in place. "Hey, don't count me out!"

"Geez, Takeru, talk about a sappy friendship speech," Flame says. "I thought you got that mushy stuff out of you back with the Red and Blue Duel Kings."

With his other hand, Takeru snatches up Flame and bobs him on the head with his thumb. Then he settles Flame down atop his hand, and Ai stands right next to him. Yuusaku keeps watching them out of the corner of his eye; beneath Takeru's hand, he's as stiff as a wooden board.

"Please," Takeru says.

Yuusaku shrugs him off. As Takeru's hand slips away though, Yuusaku snatches it up, and sets it atop Decode Talker with its blade still stuck in the ground. Takeru's heart skips a beat, and he tightens his fingers round the hilt. Gently, Yuusaku lays his hand atop of Takeru's. On cue, Ai and Flame come running down their arms and meet it the middle, standing like little trophies in the centre of their hands.

Then Ai clears his throat.

_ "The palms of our hands _

_ "Carry each of our futures _

_ "That bind us as one."  _

He grins up at Takeru and Yuusaku. "Isn't that what you'd say, right? Three  _ veeery  _ important things—"

"Enough," Yuusaku says, swatting at him. Ai ducks his head and scitters towards Flame, who pushes him away with a growl of, "You wimp, don't hide behind me!"

Yuusaku turns back to him though. He looks unsure of whether or not he should keep his hand there, chewing on his lip and pinching his eyebrows together. Takeru keeps on smiling, doing nothing more than holding his hand over the godly sword Decode Talker. He's always seen the sword from the other side—the sharp and pointy side—but now that he touches the hilt, and gazes down at the blade, he spots how the light seeps into the chiselled lines. This truly is a revered blade.

"I think ..." Takeru says, swallowing back a laugh. "You guys are the first friends I've had in a long, long time."


	28. accorD

At first, Takeru doesn't notice anything different. He holds onto Yuusaku's hand, with Ai and Flame balanced between them. Then something bubbles up inside him, and with a soft, gentle pop, his feet float up from the ground—and not just him, but Yuusaku too. The two of them ascend towards the clouds. Atop their hands glide Ai and Flame. Once both ignises realise they can fly, they kick off from their perch on Takeru and Yuusaku's hands and glide through the air.

"Whatcha doin' there, Mr. Soulburner?"

Takeru gulps. "Me? You think this is—"

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. Takeru swallows and tilts his head down. True; who else could this be? But then ... how? The world appears more like a blurry painting as he floats above the tops of the trees. Ahead of them stretches the island with Den City High's vast courtyard. It's currently a battlefield for the Reds and Blues who have torn the area to shreds with their attacks. There aren't even that many battlers, and yet the once-green grass is singed and torn apart. Towards the coastline, the bridge has toppled over. A few students remain huddled by the wreckage, but most of them have begun to search for alternative ways. Takeru squints his eyes to see Kiku or Naoki within the crowd, but it all looks like a blur to him.

Over his shoulder, he sees the clearing where the two Duel Kings have made their personal battlefield: Akira and Ryouken go head-to-head with their weapons, creating as much if not  _ more  _ destruction than all the clansmen combined. The sight of his schoolyard torn asunder puts a nail in Takeru's queasy stomach.

"Hey." Yuusaku snaps his fingers in front of Takeru's face. "What are you doing?"

"Do—" Oh. Right. They're still floating. Takeru shakes his head and stares down at his dangling feet. At first, all he sees are his muddy shoes and pants legs, but right at the tips of his toes, and stretching up his body like a personal barrier, is some sort of white light. As he tilts his head, he sees the white light covering his entire body—and not only him, but Yuusaku and the ignises too. They're all glowing like purified angels.

"A ... Duel King's power?" He twists a hand in front of his face, and peers through his fingers at the clansmen below. All of them are glowing too with the strength of their Duel Kings. Surely this must be no different. But then that means ...

"Wait, you're my clansmen?"

Flame smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand. The sound reverberates between them like a dull clap. "Didn't you  _ just  _ call us all your friends? Wasn't that assigning us as clansmen?"

"No," Takeru says with a huff. "No, I was just calling you my friends. I didn't mean—"

"Takeru." Yuusaku crosses his arms. He looks silly floating on thin air, occasionally bobbing when a breeze brushes past them; the humorous position is chipped away by his hardened features. "We need a battle strategy. Below us is a brewing war."

"But what about ..." He scratches at his chest. Somewhere beneath his skin is the Colourless Duel King. He can still feel the impish creature crawling around inside of him. Surely they can't ignore what has happened not even an hour earlier. But as he mulls over his thoughts, he sees the courtyard battle. They need to get down there and fix something.

In the corner of his vision, he sees a dash of midnight blue—not the electrifying powers of the Blues, but the rich blue of a girl's hair. He spots Kiku running through the courtyard, pursued by Serena, Naoki, and a handful of students who were avid helpers for the festival. Wherever they're going, Takeru knows they'll be in danger. They can't get caught in the crossfire between the warring Duel Kings or their duelists.

Crunching his hand into a fist, Takeru says, "We need to stop a battle."

Flame snorts loudly. "Because that definitely worked the first time."

"It will this time," he says. "I'll make sure of it." He glances to his three clansmen, eyeing each one carefully. "We might not be able to stop the Duel Kings from fighting, and we might just be throwing ourselves into the heat of the battle—but we cannot let my classmates, the students of Den City High, get hurt. We  _ cannot.  _ So whatever we do, no matter what, we must protect the students."

"Agreed."

He's not sure how he moves or flies, but he tips himself forward and then drops down towards the ground. It reminds him of being on a D-Board and gliding through the air, only this time he has to manoeuvre it all on his own. His stomach drops as he falls towards the ground, catching himself just before he plummets into the trees. Then he shoots forward and towards the clearing. Yuusaku trails after him, until, as they approach the battlefield, he flies ahead and crashes down on the ground. From up above, Takeru sees the ground shake beneath him—before he lands face-first into the ground at Yuusaku's feet. Dirt and grass shoot into his mouth.

"Wha—"

Takeru spits the earth from his mouth and sticks out his tongue. As he opens his eyes, blinking away bits of dirt that hit his face, he sees two new people standing before him. The first person he recognises as the girl who attacked him what feels like eons ago: the girl with the brown hair and blue cosplay outfit. She looks a bit smaller than the girl from before, and she's streaked with dirt and sweat from the fight. Yet it could be no other person. The other figure looks even more familiar: the ghostly boy from the night at the stadium. He recognises Takeru right away, and his face splits into a grin.

"Oh ho, he's returned—"

"You!"

Before either of them can throw their weapons at him, Yuusaku draws Decode Talker and swipes the sword between them, cutting through the grass like slicing a block of butter. He drives the knife into the ground, and holds himself before the two duelists.

"You will stop fighting," Yuusaku hisses to them, "in the name of the Silver Duel King?"

"Duel King?" Aoi echoes. "I don't see one of those lying around." She makes a point of dragging her gaze around her, and when she looks up at them, Takeru sees blue fire in her eyes. He's not sure who he should be more afraid of: her, or the boy standing next to her who tosses his sword from hand to hand. Would either of them attack first? And if so, how should he respond? Is this everything that goes through Yuusaku's mind whenever he fights too?

When neither duelist says anything, Yuusaku clears his throat and tips his head towards Takeru.

"Me? Oh ... oh right, you want me to do a speech."

Flame whacks himself on the head.

"Shush," Takeru mutters, cheeks already pinking. He clears his throat too, and faces both of the duelists. They still haven't attacked him, and he counts his blessings before he says anything more. "My friend the Blue Duel King—"

"You mean  _ my brother?"  _ Aoi clenches her teeth and draws her wand up towards her chest. Blue sparks flicker all around her.

"Yes," Takeru says, voice cracking as some of the sparks catch on the ground. No flame appears, but he wouldn't past anyone right now not to light this entire island on fire and drop the dimension into mayhem. Even Ai and Flame have quieted down after the initial post-flight chatter and sat on their master's shoulders, not even cracking a joke or witty retort. In fact, it's become uncomfortably silent across the battlefield as both the Blues and Reds have stopped their fight. He wonders for how long this silence will last.

"Yes," Takeru says again. "The Blue Duel King is ill, as you all know. I think ... it's affecting you too. And soon, it's going to affect all of us."

"It's not affecting me," Spectre says with a shrug. "But ..." He tilts his head towards Aoi. "I can feel him losing his strength. Only a matter of time before that broken Sword of his drops."

Aoi hisses under her breath, coiling back like a viper. "He wouldn't be that ill if someone's clan didn't put so much pressure on us. But ..." She swings herself around, and holds her wand up to Takeru. She nearly catches it under his chin, and Takeru swallows back a chuckle at the irony of the position. How many times has someone held him like that before, like they want to gaze deep into his eyes and figure out who he truly is. Only Aoi keeps her wand just out of reach, with the tip glowing a beautiful, deadly azure.

"This fight is between us and the Hanois. A random Duel King has no business—"

The rest of her words disappear in the quick swipe of a blade. Yuusaku knocks Aoi's wand aside and holds his own weapon level with her narrowed eyes.

"Do not speak of my King in that manner."

Aoi merely huffs and rolls herself back. "I don't listen to you. I listen to my brother."

"Your brother is about to die," Yuusaku says. He takes another step forward; his arm hikes up to raise his sword, creating a slant that, if the blade dropped, would pierce Aoi right between her eyes. She doesn't even blink at the weapon.

"He'll live longer than you all."

Takeru throws his hands out, ready to stop someone… even if he knows he won't be able to push anyone away in the moment of attack. "But—but you don't want to fight each other. You ... you want to fight the Colourless Duel King, and maybe even me. So why ..."

Spectre cuts him off with a sharp laugh. He leans back, hands on his hips, and laughs and laughs until the sound rings around like the courtyard like a terrible chime. "You think far too highly of yourself, new King. You come in asking us to kill you? Sorry, but I don't take commissions or charity work."

Takeru's heart begins to race. He glances around, but that only increases his anxiety as he sees Kiku, Naoki, and some of the students standing not twenty feet away on the path through the courtyard. They're covered head to toe in dirt and dust, and they look like they've walked through hell and back. But even twenty feet away puts them less out of danger than if they were trying to run away.

_ I want to protect my friends. _

"Hey." Spectre steps closer, and turns his head to see the students huddled on the sidelines. "They going to be a problem?"

Takeru shakes his head so hard that his neck twinges.

"Please," he says. "Please listen to me, both of you. Your Duel Kings—"

"What do you know about them?" Aoi hisses.

"If you really are the Silver Duel King, then how  _ could  _ you know?" Swinging his blade around, Spectre points it right between Takeru's eyes. He stares down the blade, and he no longer looks like the wild jester. He looks livid and possessed, eyes red and watery as if he hasn't slept in days. "Haven't you been hiding out in your blimp this whole time? What would you even know about our Kings?"

"Well ... you see—"

"What would  _ you _ know about them?" Yuusaku cuts in. He smacks Spectre's blade away, and brings his own sword up to challenge. "What would you two know of the affairs of Duel Kings? Nothing. I don't even know what they are up to. But—" Yuusaku pushes the tip of his blade against Spectre's forehead, not quite drawing blood but creating a small chip in the skin. "But the matters of the Duel Kings stay with them, and thus with Takeru here too."

"That doesn't mean I have to listen to him," Aoi says.

"That's right," Yuusaku says. "But wouldn't you both agree that it's in your best interests to stop fighting one another? You're only provoking the Colourless Duel King's wishes."

"You're right."

Takeru blinks. Of all the Blues he's met, he's not familiar with the girl standing before him. She looks to be a few years older than him, perhaps fresh out of high school and in an internship with SOL Technologies. Two ringlets frame her high, rosy cheeks and narrow face. She looks professional in a crisp, blue blazer and pencil skirt, and she holds to her chest a large, silver tablet.

"Hayami?" Aoi turns to face her. "What are you saying?"

"That our battle isn't with each other or with the Silver Duel King. It can't be."

"Yeah, but ..."

Vyra swings her sword around and buries the tip deep into the ground. Then she tips her head forward, just a bit, and says, "I am with the Silver King too: this is not a battle that should be fought."

Takeru feels a smile flicker over his lips as both Hayami and Vyra bow their heads to him. However, standing between them are Aoi and Spectre, two duelists who act like oil and water. Their rivalry makes Takeru wonder if they have bad history with one another, but he doesn't venture on the thought in case it only provokes further argument. Instead, he turns and points to the students huddled on the courtyard.

"I think we can all agree that our priority is the safety of Link Vrains’ residents. Correct?"

The group nods, though both Aoi and Spectre twist their heads away.

"Well, let's fly them to safety." And with that, Takeru spins on his heel and marches towards his classmates. They huddle together, eyes as wide as saucers. Serena stands in front of everyone with one hand on Kiku's shoulder and one hand on Naoki's upper arm. She looks ready to fight whoever dares come near her, and so Takeru raises a hand and says, "It's all right, it's fine. It's just me."

Serena sinks her teeth into her lip.

"Just ... you?" Kiku says.

"Right now," Takeru says, and before anyone can ask upon that, he holds a hand out in front of him. The gentle, white glow surrounding him grows around his outstretched palm, growing larger with each breath he takes. All around him the students’ eyes twinkle. Though the presence of Duel Kings and clans are common knowledge to Link Vrains residents, the percentage of citizens who possess such supernatural powers is minimal.

"I'm going to make you my temporary clansmen," Takeru says.

"Your what?" Naoki says.

"Clansmen," Flame says, crossing his arms. "He's not going to kill you."

"That's right," Takeru says, and swallows back a weak laugh. "But I guess clansmen sounds a little strange, even to me too. So why don't I just say ..." He smiles at them, and his feet slowly float up into the air. "Please be my friends."

In their eyes are the warmest sparkles he's ever seen. Then the students bodies begin to glow, one by one encircled by a gentle, white light. Since he imagines none of them are familiar with flying or even D-Boarding, Takeru takes it upon himself to guide their flight. He floats over to Kiku and takes one of her hands. A spark shoots through his fingers, and both of their cheeks flare pink.

"Takeru ..."

"It's all right," he says to her. "I think I know what I'm doing for once."

Kiku nods her head, and tightens her grip on his hand. Then she reaches out to Naoki, and Naoki reaches out to Serena. They create a chain through the air, everyone holding tightly to one another. Beneath his feet, Takeru sees Yuusaku and the other clansmen staring up at him with their mouths hanging open. He supposes it must be quite the sight to see people—magical or not— _ flying _ through the air, but then again, in the span of a week, Takeru assumes they've all seen much more suspicious or bizarre events.

"Come on," he says, stretching an arm down to them. "Didn't I say we're all getting off this island?"

"But—but we can't ..."

The rest of Aoi's words disappear on her tongue as she raises a hand. Takeru's grin widens. Surrounding all of them is the same ethereal light. It sets the courtyard alight like a temple, and both the land and sky glow. Yuusaku is the first to kick off and join them up above. He doesn't take anyone's hand, a point Ai makes  _ quite  _ clear by bellowing, "Mr. Playmaker you should hold Takeru's hand!" Then Vyra kicks off from the ground, grabbing Spectre by the collar and hauling him up into the air too.

On the ground remain the Blues. They all look from one person to the other, and none of them seem able to make a firm decision. Takeru wonders if they've  _ ever  _ had to make a decision on their own. Has Akira always handled business matters without them? He's never had clansmen before, so he's not sure what being a Duel King entails; and yet he always imagined the work to be shared among everyone, not hoarded mainly by the King himself.

Hayami speaks up first.

"This isn't a battle we can fight."

Aoi huffs to herself. "Says you."

Tilting her head upwards towards Takeru, Hayami says, "If we're just down here, we'll only be a burden to the boss. He ... wouldn't want any of us to get hurt."

Aoi's teeth sink into her lip. "I know  _ that,  _ but ..."

"Aoi." This time it's Kusanagi, flicking white and blue sparks from his fingertips. "Akira wouldn't want us in danger. Ever. I hate to say it but ..." He chuckles to himself, dragging his fingers through his hair. "That newbie King has a point."

With those words, Kusanagi and Hayami kick off from the front and float up towards the rest of the group. Aoi remains on the ground for a moment more, and even from such a distance away, Takeru sees the hurt and sorrow cross her face. She keeps on glancing back towards the forest and the school, any of the places her brother could be—and then she kicks off from the ground, bowing her head to shadow her drooping eyes.

_ I'm sorry,  _ Takeru wants to say, but he knows those are the words no one wants to hear. So instead he claps his hands together, and turns to face the crowd. He can't address them all as his clansmen, and he wonders what some people might say to being referred to as friends. "Um ... everyone ... follow me, all right?"

"Some moving speech," Flame mutters in his ear.

"Quiet."

Takeru squeezes Kiku's hand, and together they take off through the skies. He doesn't expect everyone to follow him, not when he's nothing but a ghost of a Duel King or a bizarre classmate. And yet no one lets go of his hand or wanders away. They all stick together. No one says a word as they cut through the clouds and cross over the vast blue sea. Even from up above and nestled in the underbellies of the clouds, the choppy sea water glistens below. It reminds Takeru of his first flight across the ocean and how sick he'd felt. He glances behind him to see if anyone has become seasick, yet to his surprise his friends all look ... content. Or as content as anyone could be in such a situation. The students stare down at the waters below, and the clansmen stretch out their hands to catch the wispy tendrils of the clouds.

Next to him, Yuusaku flies forward. He looks more peaceful than he ever has before, and Takeru wonders if it's because there's a glow to him.

No.

For the first time since they've met, Yuusaku looks truly, truly happy.

"Hey, um ... Homura, right?" Kiku squeezes his hand gently, and pulls herself a bit closer to him.

Takeru nods his head. "Call me Takeru, all right? I guess ... you wouldn't remember me ..." He swats at Flame, who ducks away and crawls behind Takeru's head. "If you have someone to blame for messing with your memories, blame this runt here."

"Hey!" Flame says.

"Hm," Kiku says, but by the cloudiness in her eyes, she must not understand. He wonders if he could ever begin to explain to Kiku everything that's happened, or if she'd remember. Does she remember her past too? Surely she can't be the same Dr. Kiku who worked in a laboratory with him. That's impossible. But she's Kiku who he went to school with as Homura Takeru, and those memories stick in his mind as much as his memories as Dr. Soulburner.

"Don't listen to him, all right," he says, swatting once more as Flame pokes his head to the side. "He's full of lies. But me ... sometimes I'm full of lies too, but I'm remembering more and more."

"Oh." Kiku tilts her head to the side and pushes her lips together. "Like what?"

"Like ... like about me being a Duel King. Did you know I used to live in that big, white blimp?"

"Really?" Kiku says. "But aren't you ..." She dips her head towards his school uniform, nearly identical to her own outfit.

"Yeah, technically I'm a lot of different people."

"You're not explaining this very well," Flame says.

"Hush," Takeru says. "No, no ... Kiku, you might not remember me because of a whole bunch of bizarre reasons, but once upon a time I lived in that big blimp, all by myself, and I ... I remember seeing you. And Naoki. And Serena. And everyone else down here, everyone around us. And just like when I went to school with you, I stayed on the outskirts and never really did anything. Maybe I stole some food. Maybe. But I was too scared to go down and see any of you. I was too scared."

"Of what?"

"Of ... of hurting you. I ... created this. These powers. I'm the one who thought it was a good idea to unleash all this power onto the world. I thought it was a good idea at the time, and now ... I'm not so sure. Sometimes it seems like a good idea. Other times, not so much. But even if I set the world alight with supernatural abilities from some big, old stone, there are still people out there that don't have that power, that can't protect themselves. And I was worried about them.

"Once upon a time, someone told me that I needed to control people, and I did anything but that. I thought if I gave the world all the power it needed, it would govern itself. That more than one person could rule the world, and that if everyone put their minds together and followed each other, that the world would be a happier, more fruitful place. But when little skirmishes broke out, I hid away in that blimp and refused to come down. I refused to fix the little problems I'd created, and now ... it's a big problem."

"Is it really all your fault though?"

"Kinda is," Takeru says, and he forces out a dry laugh. "I mean, I guess things have turned out all right, but they could have been better."

"Do you want to make things better?"

"Huh?"

Kiku squeezes his hand once more, and it sends a jolt of electricity through his hand. "Are you going to stay with us from now on, no longer running away, so that we never forget your name or face?"

"I ... guess?"

A smile spreads over her face, and the white glow around her head pulses like a soothing heartbeat. "Then that's all you can do. You can't fix what you did; you can only apologise and try to do better next time. And right now, I think you're doing a fine job."

"What did Yuusaku tell you? Oh right." Flame leans into his ear, and then bellows the words: "You have a right to live."

"I—I think he said it better than that," Takeru says. "But ... but I get what you mean."

Ahead of him, the coastline grows wider and brighter. He sees the platform to the train, still untouched. In fact, out here in the main city, the world moves on as if nothing has happened. Sure, out in the distance he can see smoke clouds billowing from the burning buildings on the island, and the Red and Blue Dragon Swords hang intimidatingly from the sky. But other than that, it truly does look like a typical day in Link Vrains.

Takeru gives Kiku's hand one last squeeze, and then breaks away from them. The group gathers in a semicircle around him, and Takeru shirks back from the spotlight. Do they really all have to be staring at him at once? Can't some of them find something else to do? But he sees Yuusaku at the edge of his vision, and Ai standing right beside him, and somehow, the sight of Yuusaku without his blade drawn to Takeru's chin gives him strength within his heart.

"Reds, Blues, and Yuusaku, protect the students here. Find them safety and shelter. You may all be from different clans, but I know your wishes are the same: you want to protect Link Vrains."

"And where are you going?" Vyra says.

"Back there," Takeru says, tipping his head towards the burning island. Even from here, he can see the growing sparks and flames from Akira and Ryouken's bloody battle. "After all, I'm a Duel King too. There is something else I can fix ... something only I can fix."

Out of the corner of his eye, Takeru sees Yuusaku nod his head.

Takeru swipes Flame off his shoulder and passes him to Yuusaku. "You stay here and keep out of trouble. Actually  _ help." _

"You say that as if we haven't been the most useful companions in your travels," Ai says, crossing his little arms together and giving a great huff.

"I do."

"Are you coming back?" Kiku speaks up.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't even have an answer for her. So he lets his new power wash over him, and slowly the light begins to chip away at his body. He feels himself fall back, slipping through the cracks of coding and firewall, until at last he blinks his eyes open. He's no longer staring at his friends or his clansmen, or even the beautiful backdrop of Link Vrains. He only sees fire—blue and red—consuming each other on a scorched battlefield.

Around his neck, he feels thick, warm cotton: a red scarf, its tail ends flickering off like the ends of a strong flame. And above his head, he sees four giant Dragon Swords: three standing tall and resolute, and the fourth broken down the hilt and blade, with an emaciated dragon curled around the handle.

_ Four. _

Beneath his chest, he feels the thrum of a hidden presence, chipping away at his existence, lurking in the shadows.

_ You're still there too, aren't you? _


	29. Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ack, sorry about the lack of updates ^^;; i think i'm losing a little motivation with this project, so next chapter will be the finale! most likely, i won't continue this series; as fun as it was to write, i think i'm done with "D" for a bit ^^ that means i'll be planning my next fic this month, and a new project should appear at the beginning of the year! look forward to it!

He's never seen something quite so painful before. With or without his memories, the Blue King's Sword looks terrible. It hangs weakly from an invisible string with a dulled, rusty blade attached to a chipped hilt. The dragon round it has become so emaciated it no longer flies around the Sword, but instead clings to the handle with its hooked claws. Its wings are tattered and torn too; at one point, it must have been a lovely dragon.

Beneath him are the two warring Duel Kings: Akira and Ryouken, the respective leaders of SOL Technologies and the Knights of Hanoi. They've been going head-to-head for quite some time now, but if Takeru watches closely, he sees that neither of them are fighting  _ too  _ hard—in fact, Ryouken is barely putting in fifty percent of his strength. His shots are weak, and he aims at Akira's extremities rather than puts a bullet through his heart.

_ The Swords must never drop, huh?  _ Takeru swallows thickly. Is there any way to fix this? Any way to heal a broken Sword? Even with his old memories, he can't recall any healing spells or ancient knowledge that would help him end this fighting.

Out of his chest pops the little, white and green ignis—Windy, he calls himself—who settles down on Takeru's held wrist, in almost the same place Flame once sat. He's about the same size as Flame too, with slightly different markings and a more mischievous face. Despite his harrowing appearance, Takeru still can't hate the trickster ignis. A part of him wants to believe there's a reason Windy did what he did.

It doesn't help when Windy laughs at the scene below.

"I could end that fight in about a minute," Windy says. "You humans really just like going at it, don't you?

"They're fighting for their own reasons," Takeru says. He chews on his lip as the fight continues. Truthfully, he'd love to go down there and put an end to it. What stops him is whether or not he'll make a difference. It's clear this war is about much, much more than simply the death of Bessho Ema.

"Let me down there," Windy continues, bringing his balled hands up like a fighter. "I'll give them the gool ol' one-two, and that'll be the end of them—or even just the end of the Blue King."

Takeru chuckles weakly. "Yeah, but then his Sword would drop on us all. I think ..." He rubs his chin. "I think that's what the Red King is trying to avoid. He doesn't want that sort of destruction."

"You don't know that," Windy says. He waggles his hand, and begins to walk up Takeru's arm, one firm step at a time. "You won't know either unless you go down there and check it out. Heck, even I don't know what will happen. But I bet it's better than waiting up here for them to fix it themselves. If anything's clear, it's that they don't know how to solve this dilemma."

He can at least agree on that.

"But maybe you think this is all my fault," Windy says. "And it isn't, all right? You humans are so quick to point fingers at everyone, but it's not simply my fault that Zaizen Akira went off the rails and is about to die? Believe it or not, Zaizen Akira probably was never meant to be a Duel King. He was just at the right place at the right time, and made a choice that would help shelter his little sister. That's why he became a Duel King; that's how SOL Technologies became his."

"Really?" Takeru says. As far as he was aware, SOL Technologies was just an old computer technology building that specialised in the maintenance of Link Vrains.

"Really really," Windy says, and his cheeks pinch up like he's grinning. "Zaizen Akira lost everything after his parents died, and to feed and clothe his little sister, he obtained the power of the Dimensional Stone and became a Duel King after his successor died. That's just how it is. He didn't create SOL Technologies, but he became the next president of it, so to speak.

"So maybe a part of him was destined to be the successor, but I doubt it. He's too reckless and self-sacrificing. He likes to take matters into his own hands even though they're spilling out between his fingertips and he's hardly able to hold on. Maybe it's some kind of greed where he has to be responsible for everything and everyone. Or maybe it's how he runs his company like a family business and treats everyone there like his personal friend. Either way, the weight of his responsibilities were bound to catch up on him."

"But—but there must be something we can do then," Takeru says. "Like counseling or support for Duel Kings so they don't burn out."

"Should have thought of that before you unleashed the Dimensional Stone," Windy says. He climbs up onto Takeru's shoulder and grasps his face in his little, fingerless hands. "Remember, the creation of the Duel Kings was your idea. You wanted a perfect world ruled by many successful people who would co-exist in harmony. You brought the fate of this world down on everyone's shoulders."

Swallowing thickly, Takeru nods his head. Once. Twice. It's all his fault. All of it.

"You dragged the whole world down to hell for a childish dream. And you call yourself a doctor?"

"Maybe ..." He's not even sure who he is. Dr. Soulburner sounds like such a proud title for a scrawny, glasses-wearing boy like him. Homura Takeru is a much nicer name, but does that person even exist? Did he ever exist in this universe? At least Dr. Soulburner is a real person, albeit a dorky idealistic pacifist.

"But hey!" Windy pinches his cheek, yanking his gaze down round to face him. His pupiless eyes crinkle at the corners. "I have an idea, Mr. Soulburner."

"Sure," Takeru says. At this point, any idea is better than no idea.

Windy gives a little skip of joy and runs down the length of his arm. He digs in his heels at the last second, skidding to a stop at Takeru's extended fingers. "The world needs someone with more backbone and strategy, right? And it's clear that your ideas—if you can even call them that—as the Silver Duel King are laughable. So let me handle such matters. Let me take your place. I promise not to bring any harm to you or your friends. In fact, we'll even switch places."

"Huh?"

"I'll take your memories and return you as a human," Windy says.

Takeru crinkles his eyebrows together, making little peaks above his nose. "How would you do that?"

"Well, I don't need your body, just your memories. I'll take your responsibilities and powers as the Silver Duel King. Meanwhile, you'll return to Link Vrains as Homura Takeru, a student at the prestigious Den City High. It's the life you thought you were living before, huh? And I can make sure that all your friends remember you too! You'll live a perfectly normal high school life and never have to worry about Dr. Soulburner or Duel Kings or such matters again. Now ..."

Windy smiles up at him. "Doesn't that sound like a steal of a deal?"

"It does ..."

Windy keeps on nodding. "Everyone goes home happy."

If he thinks back to when he first remembers going to Den City High, a smile flickers onto his face. His favourite memories are the times he spent in class, or helping out with the festival. It felt like a dream. But as the memories bubble to the surface of his mind, Takeru recalls other people that he's come across in life here: Yuusaku and Flame and Ai, who he never would have met were it not for the wild circumstances he became tangled in. They wouldn't return to school with him, would they? And if he gave up all his duties as a King, then that means ...

"But I can't."

Windy's grin melts away, dripping down into a deep frown that sags the corners of his mouth. "What?"

"I have a very scary, loyal friend who'd kick my ass if he found out I stopped being his Duel King. And besides, as frightening as this life may be ... I can get used to it."

The air beneath his feet gives way, and Takeru plunges down towards the ground, to where Akira and Ryouken have been battling ceaselessly. Windy clings to his arm, legs bouncing up and down with the wind.

"What are you doing? Hey—hey, Soulburner, what are you—"

"My duties as a Duel King," he says.

From around his neck bursts a great, red scarf, its ends fluttery and thin like the wisps of fire. He remembers wearing this scarf elsewhere in his past, and he wonders just how it appeared to him now. But the scarf sends sparks through his body like a revitalising current. He drops feet-first down on the grass, and the ground beneath him erupts. Both Akira and Ryouken jump back, eyes wide in surprise.

Takeru flicks the end of his scarf over his shoulder. "Hey there."

He expects the Duel Kings to lunge at him, or to go back to fighting each other. But they do neither. Ryouken stands with his arms folded in front of his chest. He must remember Takeru from their first meeting at the stadium. Akira, meanwhile, tilts his head to the side and covers his mouth as he starts to cough again.

"Who's that?" he asks.

"The Colourless Duel King," Ryouken answers. "I think."

Takeru rubs the back of his head, and chuckles under his breath. "Confusing, isn't it? I'm the Silver Duel King, Dr. Soulburner ... but you can call me Takeru, if you'd like. It's confusing with all the names. And ..." He reaches behind him, where Windy has tucked himself in the folds of his thick scarf, and lifts him up in the air for the other Duel Kings to see. "This is the Colourless Duel King. Call him Windy."

This time, Akira's eyes widen, and Ryouken tilts his head to the side.

Windy's own eyes widen too. He squirms in Takeru's hands, and then disappears into thin air with a slight  _ pop!  _ Then Takeru feels something icy cold, like a tundra wind, sail through his heart. He crunches forward, fisting a hand in his shirt. How could he be so cold there? Where is it even coming from?

"Get out!" Windy screams at him. "Get away from here, Soulburner! Away! Now!"

Unlike the first time he was taken control, as soon as Takeru realises Windy is inside him, he knows just how to lock him out. He whacks himself in the head once, and when the little green ignis rolls out, Takeru grabs him with an end of his scarf and rolls him into a tight ball.

"See?" Takeru says, raising the scarf up for the other Duel Kings to see. "I am me, and that little guy there is the Colourless Duel King. I, uh, hope I've proved that well. I don't really know how else to tell you that I'm ... me."

With another  _ pop!,  _ Windy breaks free of his restraints and darts back into Takeru's body. Flame never used to hide within him, and the feeling of a second person living in him, so to speak, makes Takeru feels pins and needles on his hands and feet.

Akira's wrenching coughs snaps him out if his stupor. He coughs and coughs, and then spits on the ground. Takeru has never seen Akira before today, but he imagines he was once a proud businessman, alive with the power of the Dimensional Stone. Now he simply looks as weak as his Sword.

"Thank you for bringing the murderer," Akira says, and then smirks. "Silver Duel King, am I correct?"

"Yeah, but Takeru works too."

"Well, you have my thanks," Akira says. He swings his sword up and towards Takeru, and unlike all the times Yuusaku has done it, and even hooked it under Takeru's chin, when Akira holds his blade at him, his stomach sinks to the floor. This is real. This is no longer a joking matter.

"Now hand over the ignis or I will kill it from within you."

Takeru places his hand over his heart, right where he can feel Windy nestled closely. "You want to wipe me out for the safety of Link Vrains, huh?" He tilts his head back to see the crumbling Sword in the sky. "Sure."

"I have a plan," Akira says. "Now stand down."

Takeru's eyes flicker to Ryouken, who stands still with his gun hanging at his side. For two people who were just at each other's throats, Ryouken hasn't moved an inch. Would he let Akira kill the Colourless Duel King? Takeru thought otherwise, but his palms begin to itch. Have they already spoken, perhaps? He wanted to meet with the Duel Kings before they killed each other, but if he can assume anything, it's that they've already spoken.

"I would," Takeru answers, "but I can't. I'm a Duel King too, and I have friends that I have to come back to. I have a world I have to protect. So you should still strike me. But you won't get rid of me.."

"Of you ..." Akira murmurs. "Then ..."

Takeru snatches onto Windy and holds him to his beating heart. He feels the ignis nestle close—and then pause. Breathe. Then Windy squirms underneath him, trying to tear himself away.

"I'm the immortal First Duel King," Takeru says, running his fingers through his hair. "That means I can't die—well, if you knew what immortal means, I guess I don't have to explain that to you. But—but if you try to kill me, you won't. You'll kill the Colourless Duel King. He's not bad, but he can't help anyone, not the way he is."

He glances first at Akira, then at Ryouken. They both seem captivated by his presence, and Takeru feels a bit self-conscious. They seem to drink in every word he says, and they've stopped fighting among each other. They also don't seem ready to kill him. Yet.

"We all want something for this world, right? And the power of Duel Kings makes those dreams real."

"And your desires?" Ryouken says. "Are you saying it is your desire to kill the Colourless Duel King?"

"It is my desire," Akira says.

Takeru dips his chin down towards his chest. "Then come at me."

He closes his eyes, but just as his dark lashes fold together, he feels a fist sink through his chest, practically punching his heart out of his body. He stumbles back with a sharp gasp—he didn't expect Akira to be so strong as to—

Oh.

His sword sliced through Takeru's chest as if he were made of nothing more than cotton balls. Even though he can't turn his head, he expects the blade to be sticking out behind him. He can even feel the blade inside him. He coughs weakly and tries to blink. There, in front of him, stands Akira. Blood drips from the corners of his mouths, and his eyes are wild from fever. Over their heads, his Dragon Sword gives out a sharp crack.

"No ..."

Just behind him stands Ryouken, gripping his gun in front of him.

Takeru's eyes fall closed. Within him, Windy gasps and cries as he begins to disintegrate. Takeru's own body disappears too. He feels lighter than air, and when he takes his next breath, it feels easier. The air is cleaner. The world feels safer. Somehow, he feels more like himself than he ever has. He's still not sure whether he's Dr. Soulburner or Homura Takeru, but he supposes that will come with time.

For now, he's just himself.

* * *

Akira tumbles forward onto his knees, retching. He pants out his breaths and spits blood onto the frosty ground. Ice crystals form all around him. He feels like he's stepped out of a cold shower, and when he glances over his shoulder, he only grows colder and paler. Ryouken has his gun pointed towards him, finger on the trigger. The ground beneath his feet has singed away, and yet ... He's in control. He's so, so alive that it makes Akira sick.

"You ..."

He did. Behind Akira is the where the Silver Duel King once stood. He didn't think he had it in him to end the life of the First Duel King, much less the Colourless King as well, but somehow his attack was effective enough. There isn't as much as a piece of hair left of them. Akira doesn't remember his final attack, only that, for a moment, he felt more alive than he ever was.

Now he feels like he could sleep for a hundred years.

Above his head, his Dragon Sword gives another sharp crack. Pieces have begun to tumble to the ground, yet none have knocked them on the head. The dragon on the sword gives a weak, shrill cry, clinging to what remains of the hilt. With a grating creak, the Sword dips from side to side, as if hanging only by a thin string.

It's going to fall.

Akira smiles at Ryouken, blood in his teeth. "Kings should do ... what they want to do ... for themselves ... and their people."

The gun wobbles.

"That's your excuse?" Ryouken hisses.

_ Crack!  _ The Sword drops down, only to be caught by an invisible hand. Ryouken jumps back in fright, but Akira, too tired to even raise his head, remains crouched in the ice. When his Sword drops, the entire island will be obliterated. There's no point in trying to run and save himself. There's no point in trying anymore.

Unless ...

Ryouken clicks the safety off of the gun. "You have any final words, Blue King?"

Akira breathes out a withering laugh. What could he even tell his friends, his little sister? That he was never meant to be a Duel King? That he's just a lucky bloke who was cocky enough to take on the role? That ... that he wanted all of them to be safe?

_ What did Hayami used to tell me when I'd get all hard on myself? She wasn't as tough-loving as Ema, nor as soft-and-sweet as Aoi. But she had a way with words, even if she was so quiet herself. She'd say: "You're part of our family, Akira. You're our leader, our hope. And even if we don't say it, we all believe it." _

_ Something sappy like that. And then she'd say something even sappier like "You're the most beautiful Blue of them all." _

_ She would. _

_ Crack! _

This time, it's not the sound of the Sword cracking and tumbling towards the earth, but gunpowder firing through Ryouken's gun. The bullet clears right through him, piercing him in the chest. Akira falls back with a sharp gasp, raising a hand to his chest. Red blood coats his hand. It feels so much colder than he imagined, and he wonders if his powers as a Duel King are trying to freeze and stall his death. He hopes not. This is how he wanted it to happen.

Ryouken's feet clomp on the the dead grass, and then crack the ice surrounding them. He kneels down next to him and tucks his gun into his pocket.

"You win, I guess."

Akira blinks once.

_ Yeah, I guess I did. _

When he closes his eyes, he pictures the first face he'll greet in the afterlife: a bright, beautiful face of his endearingly devilish friend, Ema. She's been waiting for him for a while, and even if he could never get her back, at least he found a way to be with her.

Over his head, his Sword disappears. He never hears it hit the floor, and he hopes it never will. Everyone is safe at last. They're where they need to be. And he knows, even without him, SOL Technologies will live on. After all, he's got such a good family to take care of each other, that he knows everyone is in good hands.


	30. enDing

Aoi feels the sting against her skin, sharp and burning like an ember. She slaps a hand to her wrist, to where her kingly powers lie—only to find the magic disappearing. Small, blue dots flutter like petals in the bright, warm air. For a moment, she thinks rain will pelt from the skies and soak her, but the world remains ever sunny and bright.

Still, it rains one way or another. 

Thick, fat tears roll down her eyes. She brushes her gloved hands over her cheeks, rubbing away the salt, but that only makes her cry harder and harder, until her shoulders are shaking and her chest is heaving. Every barrier she's kept up, every feeling she's held back, pours out of her in a torrent of tears and sobs and 'sorrys.' Legs weak, she tumbles to the ground. Her bracelet burns against her thin wrist, and with clumsy fingers she tries to pull it off lest she burn her skin.

Gently, a pair of soft, warm hands take her fingers away. They pull the bracelet from her injured wrist and set it down on the soft grass. Then the hands cup her cheeks, rubbing away at her salty tears. Aoi closes her eyes and stifles the next sob. It only tugs at her throat and causes her to choke, and then she's tumbling into a soft figure, burying her wet cheeks in their sleek blazer.

"I'm sorry," Hayami says, carding fingers through her tousled, brown locks. "I'm so sorry, Aoi."

"He—he's not—he can't be—"

Hayami presses her nose into the crown of Aoi's hair.

She sobs harder, clutching onto Hayami's arms and chest, refusing to budge. Vaguely, she hears movement around her—other Blues and Reds packing up their war gear and moving away. She doesn't care for a second where Spectre is and what he's doing. All that matters is Hayami holding her close, rubbing her hand up and down her shaking back.

"Mr. Kusanagi." Aoi hears Hayami say. "Should we return home?"

A grunt is all she hears.

Gently, Hayami takes her by the shoulders and helps her stand. Aoi stumbles on legs like a newborn calf, clutching onto first Hayami and then Kusanagi for support. With her wet eyes, the world looks like a neon watercolour painting: messy and hard on the eyes, and so she tips her head forward and lets the two adults guide her out of the courtyard and back to the train. How they'll get home, she doesn't know—the bridge collapsed during the fight. But what matters is not how they'll get home, but how she'll move on.

Without Akira ...

Without Ema ...

There is no more Blue Duel King.

"Rest easy," Hayami tells her, patting her atop the head. "We'll be home soon."

Her eyes close before they make it to the train, and so she never knows how they got off the island and back home—only that, when she wakes up, Hayami sits on the bed, holding her hand. Not too long ago, she remembers be with someone else, holding their thin, papery hand.

_ He'll get better,  _ he said.

_ He'll live,  _ he said.

She sucks in a weak, watery breath, tilting her head into Hayami's soft hand.

_ He'll always be there with them. A Blue more beautiful than them all, and a part of their family. _

* * *

Spectre has never seen a Sword fall, or a Sword shatter into the air, or any clansmen lose their kingly powers, so he finds the sight of Aoi crumpled on the ground with blue fairy dust fluttering from her wrist quite the mesmerising sight. He steps back to give her some privacy, but hovers nearby to watch Hayami scoop Aoi up, and her and Kusanagi take Aoi home. All the while, blue light flutters up towards the fluffy clouds that have gathered like marshmellows over the campus. For the battlefield of a nearly-world-destroying event, the day looks far too mild.

He spins on his heels, ready to wander back and find Vyra and ask her if they should go look for Ryouken, when he spots the Red King himself heading back. One hand remains shoved in his pants pocket, but his right hand hangs heavily with his revolver. Blood stains the barrel and drips down onto the ground; however, blood also darkens his hand and the tip of his sleeves. Spectre's eyes widen to the size of dinner places. Did his Duel King—was he injured?

Ryouken raises a hand before he can jump to conclusions.

"It's done," he says simply. Wearily, he draws another hand to his face, smoothing back his sweaty, silver hair. Ryouken has always carried a wilder appearance to him, but today he looks positively drained of all life.

Playfully, Spectre bumps shoulders with him. "I won't bore you for details, oh King. Only ask that I ..." He crouches down and examines the barrel. Not Ryouken's blood, he imagines, unless there's a sizable cut under his sleeve. Spectre whistles and stands back up. "Leave this to my imagination," he says.

"Of course."

Soft footfalls pad across the little stones littered through the courtyard. Vyra appears, one hand on her hip and both eyes wide at the sight of the bloody revolver. She keeps her tongue though, only offering a polite "Sir."

Ryouken brushes past Spectre, out to where they stored their D-Boards. Though he says nothing, Spectre hops along after him, falling in line. Vyra takes up the other side. They must look like quite the trio, he thinks: three misfit terrorist hackers walking away from a double-homicide on a private school campus. Fortunately, all the students have quit their panicking, and too busy trying to repair their school and ensure the safety of each other, none of them spot the three Hanois heading to the edge of the island.

They find their boards just where they stored them behind the trees, and Spectre revs his engine. No matter what happens, Ryouken is still here. No matter what, the Hanois still have their Duel King.

"Was it a fair fight?" he asks, itching for an answer.

Ryouken's icy gaze bores into him. "I wouldn't even call it a fight."

"A suicide, sir?" Vyra asks. 

"Most certainly."

They pitter off into silence. Spectre chews on the corner of his lip, eyes cast out onto the beautiful, dappled water. Though not quite as pretty as Ryouken's Stardust Road by their hideout, the water still looks star-speckled here.

"Well, at least you're still here," he muses aloud, and makes sure his voice carries just far enough that both Ryouken and Vyra turn around and stare at him like he's grown a second head. Of all the strange things he could have said, that's what has twisted their tongues? He has to laugh, and so he does, loudly and richly over the silent, mourning courtyard.

"I agree," Vyra says too. She sounds earnest and sincere, and Spectre has to roll his eyes at the slight kiss-up tone. Between the two of them, Vyra has always pined for extra attention from Ryouken.

Yet Ryouken accepts the words warmly—not with icy eyes and a turned back, but facing them with the softest glimmer in the corners of his blue eyes. His lips fight to remain still, shivering up into a teensy smile, and just before he breaks out of his stern character, he spins around and calls out, "And will I forgive you if I find you've messed up our headquarters once more? Should you two truly count yourselves lucky?"

Again, Spectre laughs outright. "Maybe," he says, and he doesn't wait for an answer, shooting off his board and out over the crystalline water. No matter what, his Duel King survived.

No matter what, the Knights of Hanoi are still alive.

* * *

Kiku doesn't remember much of the battle on the school courtyard, nor does she remember much of what happened after. She was in such a frenzy back then, hurriedly trying to repair the cultural festival equipment and gather together the students. In the end, the festival was scrapped and the school saved its remaining money for next year. Considering the damage done to the school and fields, and the general anxiety coursing through the students like a bad flu bug, she doesn't blame them.

No matter how much she tries to recall what happened leading up to the battle of the Duel Kings, she can't remember. Both Serena and Naoki have told her many times about the fights between the Reds and the Blues, but she hardly remembers anything of that. In fact, she doesn't remember anything from that day, and some memories from the days before. Occasionally, she finds herself standing out front the empty, desecrated dorm room in her building, or gazing at a vacant seat in the classroom. Naoki has told her many times before that there has never been a student living in the dorm room or sitting in the des, and Kiku knows that too ... but she still finds herself wondering if, perhaps in a dream, she imagined such a person.

When she tries to conjure the image of the mysterious student, her mind draws an even bigger blank. Just who was he? He can’t be a student anyone else knows, for whenever she broaches the topic she only receives the blankest of stares. Serena even checked her temperature.

But Kiku knows for certain someone is missing. The feeling washes over her every day when she cooks breakfast and prepares her lunch, or when she ties her red scarf round her neck in preparation for the crisp, autumn weather.

Gently, she lies back in the soft, green grass, locks of blue hair crinkling the fallen leaves. She's tucked herself underneath a maple tree, and from time to time a large leaf lands around her, and once on her nose. Here the tree provides just enough cover that the wind doesn't tug at her scarf or nip at her nose, and she's content to remain outside until the chill seeps into her bones. Lately, she's sat under this tree and watched the clouds prance across the sky or the sun rise and fall each day. Her mind remains ever flighty without the responsibilities as a student council member, and a laugh bubbles in her throat. Wasn't there someone who used to be even more scatterbrained than her?

_ That's right,  _ she muses.  _ Him. _

Him. The boy from her class. The silly, cheery boy who could cook nothing but rice and who always borrowed food from others. The lanky boy who lived two floors above her and who always forgot his duel disk and student pass. In wisps, she remembers his face: blue eyes and white hair, and glasses that made him seem smarter even when he'd stick out his tongue and blush peachy-pink. There was something so human and innocent about him, that, even when his face fades from her memory once more, she feels her own cheeks warming and her heart fluttering.

Even if Serena and Naoki can't remember, Kiku knows that, even if only for a day, he was a student at Den City High. Somewhere there was a white-haired, scatterbrained boy who was her classmate and friend.

_ And maybe,  _ she thinks,  _ he'll return. Someday, he'll return to school. _

* * *

"W-where ... where are you, Mr. Soulburner?" Ai says, little head raised up to the billowing crowds. Though no tears pour from his eyes, the skin around his face is pinched at the corners and hanging in other places to give the appearance of sorrow. He looks like a truly pitiful sight, shoulders shaking, hands balled in fists. Next to him, Flame looks like a basket case of emotions as the little ember atop his head flickers and fades, and his own face pinches in concern.

  
"Takeru! Takeru, where are you?"   
  
Yuusaku sighs, clicking his tongue together. They've been back to Den City High several times since the battle, and never once have they seen Takeru or Dr. Soulburner or the Silver Duel King. The last time they saw him was that fateful goodbye before he went off to stop the Red and Blue Duel Kings—and while Yuusaku knows the outcome of that match, he still thought, just maybe, Takeru would have pulled through. The immortal Duel King—that's Takeru. He should have lived, unless immortality cannot defeat the plunge of a King's sword. He should have kept on living, even if he was never meant to come to the ground in the first place.   
  
Yuusaku knows well that they're unlikely to see Takeru again, and yet he still flicks his gaze up to the clouds, searching for a red scarf or a hot air balloon. Anything. Any sign to remind them Takeru is still watching over them.   
  
He jumps out of his thoughts when Ai jabs a finger into the sensitive skin of his cheek.   
  
"You cruel robot," he mutters. "Feel something for once!"   
  
"I am," Yuusaku says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He mosies down the newly built pathways snaking through the verdant campus, out towards the water. Sunlight speckles over the surface, and Yuusaku hangs his lanky legs over the edge and tries to toe the water. "The Silver Duel King, Dr. Soulburner ... or the student, Homura Takeru, will surely return." He tilts his head to avoid Ai's next jab, and when Flame goes in for his own strike, Yuusaku plucks the two ignises off his shoulder and deposits them on the grass below. "We cannot know for certain, but we can trust that he'll come back as swiftly as he can. Considering his penchant for not dying, I think he'll make a smooth recovery."   
  
"He could be hurt," Flame says, eyes widening. "After what he did—"   
  
"Or he's just napping in some tree," Yuusaku says under his breath.   
  
He turns away to avoid Ai and Flame's dual attack.   
  
"Don't be mean to my Duel King!" Ai says, puffing himself up like a children's stuffed toy.   
  
"Or my Duel King!" Flame says, the ember on his head popping like a firecracker."   
  
Yuusaku shakes his head. He settles back on the grass, nestling into the field and slowly closing his eyes. A gentle breeze caresses his cheeks and flutters his hair. From within his chest comes a deep breath all the way from his toes to his lips.   
  
"You're wrong," he says to the two ignises. He hears them rustle to face him, but with his eyes closed, he never sees the way their faces split in joy, bodies glowing like miniature suns.   
  
"Takeru is our Duel King."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's the finale! sorry it's so late - sadly, i lost steam towards the end of this project, and while i definitely struggled with this last chapter, i can happily safe i'm leaving this fic will a finale i'm proud of! for a wild crossover idea, i'm quite happy with this story! i think my writing has grown through this project, and i got some practice handling a larger cast and multiple POVs (which has actually helped me out with "Liberate!" i won't be writing a sequel to this fic, but since the story ends on much the same note as the original K Project, i've wrapped up the plot points i need to ^^
> 
> thank you to everyone who read, from those who saw this fic in its early chapters to those who hopped on along the way! thank you for your kudos, comments, and bookmarks, and i hope you enjoyed the fic!
> 
> with love,   
> \- Lily

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to ask me questions or come say hi on tumblr [@ lily-liegh](https://lily-liegh.tumblr.com/ask)


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